Static
by dreamsingreen
Summary: For his crimes against Starfleet and the Federation, Khan is handed back to Section 31 again for punishment and experimentation. The torture he receives there surprises even him. But as usual, neither he nor his captors expected a certain starship captain to interfere. Eventual Khan/Kirk, implied Spock/Kirk.
1. Chapter 1

_A/n: _Written for this prompt on Tumblr:

"Imagine Khan in a cell, with weird intense scifi settings, where he is kept awake 24/7 all days of the week as punishment for his crimes against the Federation. So, he literally just goes insane with lack of sleep." (Plus a fair amount of medical torture).

I saw this prompt on Tumblr from dirtykhan and as a former insomniac I just HAD to. I can't imagine a worse punishment, especially since Khan has regenerative blood that will keep him alive under almost any circumstance. And of course, I couldn't pass up an opportunity to torture my boys.

As of now this fic has an undetermined number of chapters, and I don't know how long it will be. Pairings will include Kirk/Spock and Khan/Kirk, but this is mostly a pre-slash fic (no one will be in a full fledged relationship yet by the end).

Enjoy (or not!)

* * *

He screams voicelessly as the soft, comfortable static cradling his awareness is replaced by sharp panic and _pain._ And rage _(let's not __**ever**__ forget that, shall we)_, the desperation of an animal that knows it's trapped with no way out.

Being awake and aware is risky business for an augment these days, now so more than ever. Especially if your name is Khan Noonien Singh.

Waking is no less agonizing than it was the last time, when he was subject to the 'tender' mercies of Marcus and his butchers. However, though his body and mind are in shock from his abrupt revival _(anytime is too soon when you'd rather sleep forever) _he adapts to the situation quickly, as is only fitting for a member of his kind. Less than a day ago, less than an hour ago, he was nothing more than _meat_ – a frozen slab of genetic perfection from an era long dead, left to the mercy of his newest masters or destroyers. Was there really any difference?

The powerful engine of his mind fires back to life, before Khan is able to see, hear or experience anything at all aside from the feeling of his nerves slowly and excruciatingly defrosting. He appears helpless, broken by his pain, but appearances are deceiving. He is not broken - he is _awake. _And he is _better_.

So he analyzes, strategies. Forces his mind to rise above the pain and piece together why he's here, why he's being yanked from his comfortable oblivion once again.

It doesn't take long to remember why, and he wishes that he had never tried. But Khan is not the type of man to deny reality out of convenience, even if the truth destroys him.

So.

'Reality' is:

_An exhilarating feeling of triumph and cold, exacting power shattered in an instant by a fiery explosion. A crash, then a jump and a furious chase. And __**rage**__; the purest loathing painting his entire world red as he fights desperately, without regard for strategy, the future, or his life. Only one thing can end his suffering now– the sound of the Vulcan's skull caving in under his vengeful hands._

He doesn't remember much else from his fight with Spock – mostly the pain. There was no fear, he's fairly certain – he had been far too gone for that.

Then there was nothing at all. Only static.

* * *

They come to visit him the next morning, or what he's designated to be 'morning' based on his tracking of the long and agonizing seconds, minutes, and hours since he regained consciousness. Counting is tedious, but he prefers it to contemplating whatever gruesome fate awaits him (and to remembering his family's own fiery end).

He doubts that his attempts to distract himself will make much of a difference here, since he's strapped down to a cold metal operating table wearing nothing but a flimsy hospital gown. He supposes that he should be grateful they granted him that much, since he's still indisputably a prisoner and most likely a lab rat. He can feel duranium cuffs restraining his arms, legs, torso, and neck oh-so-effectively, tight enough to interfere with his circulation. Even if he was at his full strength, and not half-paralyzed from his body's ordeal, he would be unable to break them.

_Fucking wonderful._

His eyes are functional once again, and he can see his captors' faces as they step closer to the subdued monster. Human and arrogant, nearly every single one of them. They must be Section 31 - he's almost certain of it. Who else would it be?

Khan picks out the leader instantly from her body language. Despite his disorientation, his years of training take over and allow him to make a series of automatic, highly accurate observations about the commanding officer in a split second.

_Scientific background._ He can tell more from the cold, analytical look in her eyes than the white of her lab coat. The eyes are always one of the first features to reveal information in humans, after body language and other unconscious telltales.

The half-breed Vulcan…Kirk's complacent first officer and would-be lover was the only being who was ever able to lie to Khan successfully. As he recalls the explosion that tore through the _Vengeance's _hangar bayand consumed the last shred of his sanity in its flames, he breathes in once deeply and forces himself to filter his thoughts. That memory takes him to a bad place, and he can't afford to lose control so profoundly ever again.

Being forced into cryosleep may have stopped his rampage, but it didn't repair the cracks in his psyche. Khan shoves the memory to the back of his splintered mind and resumes his analysis of the auburn-haired scientist hovering over him. He will settle his score with Spock later, if the half-breed still lives - and if he survives _her_.

_Early thirties, but already given considerable authority over a highly dangerous, unstable and valuable prisoner –intelligent and ruthless. Ambitious. And competent, unless she demonstrates otherwise in the coming exchange._

She would be attractive if he couldn't already tell that she was contemplating the best way to dissect him. He wasn't born knowing that look – it came from one too many bad memories.

"Khan," she greets him simply after studying his face openly for a long moment, testing the sound of his name. "We're so relieved that you're finally conscious. And our latest series of scans indicate that you made it through the revival process without any neurological or tissue damage – nothing that you won't recover from, anyway."

A deep shockwave of pain shoots up his spinal cord and Khan can't suppress his sudden wince. No lasting damage? He's less confident than she is about _that_ particular diagnosis.

But of course, he will heal, because he was designed to be indestructible. The more Khan thinks about it, the more he understands what sadistic fuckers his creators were.

But the officer's words and the fresh pain that accompany them raise more questions than answers. The first time he was revived, it was after two hundred and fifty years of cryostasis, by scientists who could only make educated guesses at most about outdated technology. If he was a lesser man, he would have died without question. But this time…this time he was preserved with the latest cryogenic equipment. Unless centuries had passed again, or there's another major factor he's not accounting for, why is he suffering just as much, if not more?

He's not sure if he wants to know why, or if the answer even matters to him any longer.

_My family is dead because of me._

"You look less than thrilled to be here with us. Are you in any pain?"

Khan glares glacially back at the woman, imagining her slim, pale neck twisting in his hands.

"Do you even know where you are?"

He opens his mouth to voice a creative string of expletives that he always pretended to be above, but his throat is too painfully dry to produce any sound but a dry rasp.

The female scientist, whoever she is, turns and nods at the nurse on duty. A cup of water is pressed to his lips, and though he has his dignity to consider, Khan drains it eagerly. He coughs and nearly chokes on the first few sips, but his body adapts quickly, ensuring his continued survival whether he wants to live or not.

"Section 31…where else?" he rasps, despising how weak he sounds in that instant. He is _not_ weak, but it doesn't harm him to let them think so. Marcus made the same mistake, before his brains and cerebrospinal fluid ended up splattered all over the floor of the _Vengeance_ bridge. These people are no different, he can _tell_ – humans, nearly all of them, and confident beyond their petty, limited abilities.

_Inferior._

They are galaxies apart from him, so diminished in comparison that it's a lie to even classify them as a similar species. Section 31 will never break him, no matter what tortures its newest lackeys have in store. Khan is _certain _of it.

_(Because Spock already finished the job a long time ago)._

The woman nods once in acknowledgement. "Where else? You of all people would know that our organization is like the Hydra from mythology – cut one head off, and it grows two more. Marcus was one of our organization's many disposable figureheads – he was never the _heart_ of Section 31."

"Then who is the hidden heart of this otherwise cold and soulless organization?" Khan sneers coyly, _"You?"_

The woman laughs. The sound would normally be considered pleasant, like the chiming of bells, but in the present context it sends a chill down Khan's spine. (Just a minor chill – and that's most likely because he's cold. The air is always kept frigid in labs, after all. And he's still in the final stages of defrosting. That _must_ be why).

"No, not at all," the officer laughs, as if Khan just made a grand joke. "My heartbeat is just as disposable as anyone else's in this room. We're all just cogs in the machine - Section 31 will outlast all of us. Maybe even you, if you're lucky."

"I haven't had the pleasure of your name," Khan replies, trying to keep his voice steady. While his mind so advanced that even the most detailed cognitive tests barely scratch the surface of his abilities, he is first and foremost a creature of instinct, a savage animal. And right now, his every instinct is telling him to _run _and _kill _when escape is impossible.

"I doubt you truly care to learn the names of lesser creatures. But I'm Rebecca Bowers, a geneticist," she smiles down at him, trailing a hand over the thin fabric covering his chest. Her fingernails are sharp, but not as sharp as her merciless blue eyes. "I've been waiting a long time to study you, Mr. Singh."

"How long?" he asks warily, not expecting an answer. He only hopes that it hasn't been _too _many years since his crew was butchered and he was frozen away. The responsible parties must still be punished, after all. Then he can join them in their eternal sleep. Only then.

"Two years is a long time for scientific advancement to wait," she shrugs, apparently not caring about giving a dangerous prisoner important details on the context of his captivity. Khan narrows his eyes; her easy confidence is starting to unsettle him.

"And even longer for Section 31 to wait." She reaches for something from the tray behind her as she speaks, but Khan can't tilt his head the fraction of an inch necessary to see what it is.

"And what am I to Section 31 now?" he whispers, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists as his heart races.

"The oil that powers the machine," she replies without hesitation, her eyes wide. "The fuel of a new age."

He barely has time to brace himself before she brings her hand down, driving something cold and metallic and _sharp _into his left eye. Khan cries out as blades begin to whir and shred the soft tissue like a knife slicing through butter. The pain is indescribable, and it consumes his entire world, washing away time. He can no longer hear the sound of his own screaming.

Something warm and wet is dripping down his face from the empty socket, but that's not all. The metal device lodged in the empty place where his eye used to be isn't staying put – it's morphing, changing. _Growing._

_What the…?_

Khan is the most advanced organic life form in the known universe, but even his body has limits. As tubes enter his skull through the empty socket and snake around his brain, the pain reaches untold heights and the world goes blissfully, mercifully dark.

The last thing he sees before falling unconscious is the geneticist's wide, reverent smile.

* * *

James T. Kirk can be many different things, depending on who the interested party asks. A kid from a broken home in Iowa, a former delinquent, a womanizer, and a hothead with a penchant for finding trouble where no one else can. One of the few survivors of the massacre on Tarsus IV fifteen years ago, and a master strategist whose cunning spared the Federation from utter destruction by Nero. The youngest starship captain in the Fleet, who had saved the lives of over a thousand of his crewmembers by climbing into a radioactive warp core.

A legend, a hated enemy, but also the guy who greets you as you leave your shift in engineering, and even though you've never spoken a word to him and never dreamed you would, he knows you by name.

Jim Kirk wears many different faces for many different people, but to Bones…he's more than the sum of all of the stories. He's a friend, a confidant, and a brother.

And now that he's decided to start dying again, he's a major pain in the ass.

"No surprises there," Bones grumbles to himself as he barks orders at his staff, administers hypos to the struggling, convulsing patient and keeps a keen eye on Jim's vitals. "Just when I finally finish cleaning up the mess you made taking on that Orion slave ship, you decide to shoot my well-deserved break to hell. A goddamn generalized seizure on the bridge, with no known cause. Nicely done, Jim."

Kirk looks up at him blearily as the hypos finally take effect, smirking slightly as if he has some small awareness of what's going on. A trickle of blood runs down from the corner of his open mouth where he bit his tongue. Bones rolls his eyes, but some of the tension in his shoulders dissipates.

He's so focused on the captain's readings that he doesn't even hear a series of measured footsteps approach the bed.

"I object to your analysis, Doctor," Spock says tightly, and Bones doesn't bother to take the time to look up or sigh. "In contrast to some of the Captain's more recent displays of recklessness, in this situation no blame can be assigned to him for his injuries."

"As far as we know," Bones murmurs, and though he's not looking at the Commander, he can practically feel Spock's logical, wise-ass retort make its way from his brain to his lips. "_Sarcasm_, Spock," the doctor explains before the Vulcan can get in another word. "It's one of the ways we humans sometimes try to relieve the tension of a situation."

Spock stays blessedly silent for a long moment, and Leonard finally tears his eyes away from the scans of Jim's brain's electrical activity to study his face. Spock is looking down at his sedated captain, his expression hovering on a razor's edge between uncertainty and calculation.

Bones doesn't know what the Vulcan is thinking, or what conclusions he could possibly be drawing without the relevant medical knowledge and training. Jim's preliminary scans make no sense to _him, _and he's been a doctor for years_._

"What the hell is it?" Bones barks out, not because he wants to hear Spock speak again, but because he's starting to get _scared_. Aside from his occasional brushes with death, Jim is a fit, healthy young man of twenty-eight. Even after the Khan Incident, his vitals all came back normal, if slightly improved from their baselines.

But now…though it should be impossible, it almost seems as if his brain activity belongs to someone _else. _Even the brief, chaotic spike caused the sudden seizure doesn't account for the strange readings.

"In the hours before the incident," Spock began slowly, measuring every word, "Jim seemed withdrawn and tense, as if he was in considerable pain. As if he was…_afraid. _I advised him to visit you here for evaluation but he refused, as expected."

"Maybe there's something toxic in his blood," Bones suggests, pausing bark out a command to a subordinate to bring him Jim's blood work. "We've explored a number of new planets recently. Something in one of the environments might have gotten to him."

"A logical possibility," Spock replies hesitantly, and Bones sighs in exasperation as a trainee _finally _hands him Jim's full blood panel. Frustration sweeps through him when he sees that everything is normal with no possible causative factor indicated in the results. He looks up at Spock again as soon as he realizes that the other man has trailed off without contributing any more of his 'wisdom.'

Bones stares transfixed as Spock studies the young man on the hospital bed with an intensity that doesn't seem to fit the situation. It's not a friendly look – the only time Bones saw Spock look at another person in his med bay with so much wariness and repressed violence was when…

_Oh my god._

"Spock?" Bones prods gently, his heart pounding in his ears. "What is it?"

"This will sound highly unlikely and emotionally motivated," the Vulcan warns, his voice quiet, with a strange, coiled tension in his words that Bones has never heard before. "So please disregard my analysis if it has no medical relevance."

"Speak up," Bones encourages him, hoping beyond hope that Spock won't say what he thinks he will. "Any additional information can be helpful in a case like this."

Spock hesitates before he speaks. "Though Jim looked at me when he spoke today, he didn't seem to _see _me. But for an instant, there was an inhuman awareness in his eyes, and a depth of emotion I have only ever seen in one being. Someone that I hoped to never see again."

"Well, shit," Bones mutters, ordering the computer to run an analysis comparing Jim's brain scans to Khan's from the records. "You think that bastard is messing around in his head. But that's impossible, isn't it? I mean – Khan's supposed to be a popsicle right now. And good riddance!"

Bones fidgets and babbles more nervous reassurances out loud (though he knows damn well that Spock isn't listening) as the system finishes its analysis. He wants to tear his eyes away from the screen so he doesn't see the blinking green results reporting a positive match, practically confirming every fear that has haunted him for the past two years.

"_Fuck,"_ he whispers in disbelief, looking back down at his friend. The captain's face is pale and pinched with tension, as if he's struggling even under the influence of the pain-killing hypos. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead, and his breathing is shallow and panicked. He looks so _young_ – too young to die like this. _Again_.

And Bones did this to him. In an effort to save Jim's life, he had simply doomed the captain to another fate, one that might be worse than death. _Tied to Khan – _was it possible? If this was truly happening, how had he not seen it before? How could he have let the freak who had already hurt Jim so much carve another mark on his body and mind?

He jumps as Spock shakes his shoulder frantically, and realizes that he was staring. "Dr. McCoy, his heart rate is spiking." The cold bastard sounds truly _concerned._

Understanding that his best friend is vulnerable because of a bitter, vengeful psychopath snaps Bones right out of his reverie, and his medical training takes command once again.

"I'm putting him in an induced coma," he decides, shouting orders to his staff to bring him the necessary cocktail of drugs. "That monster can have a field day if he wants, but he won't hurt Jim on my watch."

"Doctor, I request your permission to stay and perform a mind meld on the captain," Spock interjects quickly, his fingertips already pressed against Jim's face. "If Khan is indeed behind this mental attack, it stands to reason that he is no longer in cryostasis. I intend to discover why, and by what means he is able to harm Jim. And then…I intend to use their shared link to _destroy_ him."

Bones throws his hands up in utter exasperation. "Goddamn it, Spock! Why you bother to ask permission when you don't care about the answer, I'll never know. Just stay out of my way."

Spock doesn't reply. His face is already set in concentration as he initiates the meld, and Bones can't afford to spare him a second glance as he begins his own work.

_Khan, _the doctor thinks furiously as he forces his captain, his friend, his _brother_ into a coma that he may never wake from, _I hope you're having your fun now, I really do. 'Cause pretty soon, we're gonna make you __**suffer**__ for this._

* * *

_**A/N 2: Please leave a review - I love reviews!**_


	2. Chapter 2

Khan's torn from his nightmare about crows pecking out his eyes as a powerful jolt of electricity sears bone and muscle and practically cooks him from the inside out. _From a nightmare back to reality – _it's getting harder to say which state he prefers. He convulses violently as the pure energy sets raw nerves on fire and blisters his skin. It's like getting struck by a bolt of lightning and surviving, living to feel his body warp and twist in on itself then heal again at an astonishing rate.

There are some things that a human being is never meant to experience, let alone endure and survive. Unfortunately, Khan is an augment. He can't deny the curse of his regenerative blood no matter how much he wants to.

As the electricity dies down and his spasms ease, he's still denied even a minute's rest. Next, he simply becomes aware of a worse pain – the pain in his _head._ His eye – there's something stuck in his left eye, and he can't close it properly like the right one. Only… what's lodged in his eye socket doesn't seem to have an end. It goes on for an eternity, punching a hole clean through the soft, torn tissue and extending back into his skull.

His stomach drops as memories of what happened before his last blackout flood his mind. That…_woman_, the geneticist who spoke of machines and the hearts of monsters had gouged out his eye without hesitation. But that wasn't _all_ that happened – in the split second before he fell unconscious, Khan felt something branching, _growing _inside of his head. Wrapping around his brain.

He braces himself and opens his good eye a crack so a small amount of light can filter in, but is forced to shut it quickly as stabbing pain shoots through his skull. He focuses on the rest of his body instead, and realizes that he's not bolted down to the lab table anymore. They've moved him somewhere else, and from the position of his arms and the strain on his shoulders, he's clearly suspended above the ground. He can't move any of his limbs - the restraints holding them in place are exceptionally strong.

Augments are curious by nature, even in the face of pain. Khan slowly but determinedly opens his working eye millimeter by millimeter, resisting the urge to squeeze it shut again as the bright light temporarily blinds him. Despite his caution, it still feels like a nail is being driven through the back of his skull.

As his corneas adjust to the sudden stimulation after an indeterminate time unconscious, his eye begins to supply a picture to his brain. He forgets to breathe as he sees that he's not in the standard Section 31 hospital room of horrors – rather, he's trapped inside of a _machine_.

The structure is circular, with sensors and blinking lights embedded in every inch of the walls. Metal arms circle his body at irregular intervals, undoubtedly taking more precise measurements. He can't tell what the equipment is monitoring, but the constant pulsing and blinking is both distracting and maddening. The enclosed room seems to hum with energy, making his teeth rattle, and the loud, monotonous drone of machinery fills his ears and raises the pounding in his head to a fever pitch.

In addition to the restraints holding his arms and legs in place, thin metal wires wrap and snake around his exposed skin. As he looks closer, he sees with a thrill of horror that they disappear _underneath _his skin. Khan doesn't know if they all supply electricity, are IV lines, or serve some other purpose, but the sight of them unnerves him and he has to close his eye again to collect himself.

He's not quite as worried about his arms and legs - though his current position is uncomfortable and the hollow wires under his skin are troubling, they'll probably be fine. But what on Earth did they force into his _brain?_

Khan can't deny it any longer – the humans have subdued him. They've imprisoned his body, but that's not what scares him. What _truly_ terrifies him is the possibility that they've gained access to his mind.

All throughout his short, violent life, his mind was his only refuge. His earliest memory is not learning to walk or basking in the loving smiles of parents, but being strapped to a lab table like a bug in a collection, having all imperfections burned away in experiment after experiment.

After that there was fighting and killing, mostly to provide a lavish lifestyle for the scientists and governments who had played a role in their creation. The red-tinted brutality of those days seems to stretch on for an eternity in his memory, when the first wave of battles really only lasted for a few short years. Humans and augments had stopped his heart and watched as his final breath rattled from his lungs. He died over a dozen deaths, and each time he lost a little more of himself when his body forced him back to life.

Khan was in his early twenties when his illusions about his masters ended, and though he has a flawless memory, the events leading up to those dizzying first years of freedom are still a blur. He contacted augments in other facilities around the world, and slowly but surely poisoned their minds against their creators. "Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven" was what he told them, "but together, we can build our own paradise here on Earth – and their nightmare."

Once they had won their freedom…_well_. Did the humans who created them expect a utopia? Did they think that the highly intelligent, ruthless beings they'd bred for destruction would obligingly fulfill their plans?

Even during the escape, and Marcus, and everything that came afterwards…he was never _truly _helpless. He always had a backup plan and some kind of strategy, no matter how desperate he was at the time.

Now he has nothing left. He doesn't know how Section 31 plans to break him in this room of horrors, but he has a feeling that very little of him will remain once they're finished.

The wall opposite him stirs, and Khan is torn from his memories of blood staining desert sands. A gap appears out of nowhere and widens, just like in his cell on the _Enterprise _when Kirk's CMO demanded his arm for a blood draw. Khan strains to keep his good eye open as a figure appears in the entryway. His stomach churns with helpless rage and no small amount of fear as he sees the auburn hair and cold, curious eyes of his first torturer.

She steps through the gap, nodding in approval as she studies the construction of the cell and sees how they've strung him up.

"What the _fuck,"_ he rasps before she can speak, pausing to spit blood on the floor in front of her, "have you done to me?"

She smiles and moves closer into his personal space than even he feels is wise to go, close enough that he can smell hints of her perfume – jasmine and lilac. This time, he notices, they haven't restrained his neck. Just another fraction of an inch and he could bite her in the jugular, ensuring a quick death for her and a much slower end for him. He's killed enemies for far less cause than this…_geneticist_ has given him, after all.

But again, he's struck with a strong intuition that this woman is _different._ Even though she works with Marcus' old underlings and is every bit as cruel as they are, she doesn't_ quite _fit in with her jaded, pro-establishment colleagues. There was a slight sardonic twist to her words about Section 31 in their first meeting, and a subconscious insincerity in her voice he has no doubt he was the only one to pick up on. She doesn't belong here, and Khan has no idea why.

But he intends to find out why, even if he has to pretend to play her game.

"How do you like your new accommodations?" She asks lightly, ignoring his outburst and reaching out to trace the path of one of the metal wires crisscrossing his chest. He follows her fingers and sees that the line doesn't extend under his skin, like the others, but ends in a needle. Just what are they attempting to drug him with?

"I have to admit, Marcus had a greater appreciation for comfort," he says half-seriously, half-sarcastically, watching her face fall in mock sadness. "I expected a warmer welcome, though this is…_fascinating _nonetheless. Where am I?"

She looks around, her eyes resting on one of the dozens of blinking machines lining the walls. "This will be your new home until…until I get the results I need. The equipment you see will record your condition as the experiment progresses."

"The results _you _need, not the results Section 31 needs?" he parries in response, closing his eye because the pulsing, humming, _living_ construction around them is getting too bright again. "A revealing choice of words. And somehow I don't have much confidence that my _condition_ will improve under your leadership."

"Oh, you're right about that," she laughs appreciatively, circling around him to speak softly in his ear. "By the time I'm finished with you, you won't know your own name, the century you came from, or the useless love you bore for your family, before they were incinerated on the deck right below you as you survived."

(And once again he's in his captain's chair on the _Vengeance_, in his _rightful place, _strong and glorious and vengeful as he locks the phasers of his perfect creation on the _Enterprise _and fires. In that moment, he's not willfully murdering over a thousand people and condemning a ship of innocents to death for their captain's slight – he's avenging a lost childhood of being built up and torn apart on a cold steel table, and watching his brothers and sisters die for no reason, and the look in Marcus' eyes, in _all_ of their eyes that implies he's something _less_, that there's something lacking in him when in reality he's so much _more _than they will ever be. Then the explosion tears through the ship and claims his family, and his entire world dies with them as his body lives on. And he's not even surprised at the irony.)

Khan forces himself back to the present, breathing hard. He can feel Rebecca, or whatever her real name is smiling over his shoulder. She managed to get a rise out of him and trigger his worst memory – _not acceptable_. She obviously knows his weak spots from reading his file, and is willing to exploit the fractures in his mind for her own purposes.

He has to regain his footing in this verbal battle, because he's already losing– decisively.

"You must want these results very badly," he suggests, a hint of bitterness laced in his words, "but you don't _seem _to have a personal vendetta against me – I would know if you did. You need to learn something that only destroying me will teach you…And yet, you don't share the same cynicism of your colleagues, as if you believe your research on my genome will make a difference. As if you've discovered something they haven't."

"Very good, Mr. Singh," she says approvingly, walking around to face him once again. Her eyes are bright, earnest, and more than a little insane. "You must know the trouble Marcus' doctors had with replicating the healing properties of your blood. We needed that knowledge, and even he saw that - it would change medicine forever by eliminating disease, and even most deaths could be reversed. Ideal during a galactic war, don't you think? But Section 31 never made any progress, despite months of testing on a being created with _twentieth century _technology. Almost as if…your design was too advanced for our current understanding of genetics."

"What are you suggesting?" Khan snaps, genuine bewilderment coloring his words. He's rarely confused, and he doesn't enjoy the feeling. "You've mapped my genetic code. You _should_ be able to replicate it."

She nods, her eyes burning as they study his face. "I _have_ mapped it, and I _should _be able to replicate it, but I can't. And don't misunderstand me - your genome is absolute _perfection_. Simple, elegant and self-contained, yet it displays endless variety and complexity. Every strand of your DNA is in the perfect place for the best expression of a desired trait. Your design literally cannot be improved upon with our technology, even though it's three hundred years old. Strange, don't you think?"

Khan stares back aghast and at a loss for words. "And you're the only one who has noticed this," he accuses shakily. He has a feeling that he's losing their intellectual battle again. He wants to believe that this woman is insane, and that's the sole motive for her rant, but deep down, he knows that her words are true.

But _why_ are they true?

"No, of course not," she chides, "but I'm the only researcher who bothered to dig deeper and ask _why_. The others were distracted by the healing effects of your blood, by your strength and intellect. But in my mind, if we don't know _why _something is the way it is, the results are meaningless."

"So how will your experiment get you the answers you need, and why did you have to liquefy my eye?" he can't help but add bitingly. "Or is that just how you get off?"

She laughs again and reaches up to tap his forehead. He realizes in that moment that they must have shaved his head, because his bangs should be obscuring what's left of his vision.

"The answer doesn't lie in your DNA," she explains, her intense gaze locked on his, "it's all up _here, _buried in your memory. You know something I don't about your origin, even if you don't realize it yet."

"I remember _nothing," _Khan shouts, because he's starting to panic. He doesn't understand what she's saying, and not understanding terrifies him. "I don't know what kind of sadistic game you're playing, but I can promise that you won't succeed."

"Oh, but I'm confident I will, once I break down those barriers," she replies, her eyes glinting with an inhuman coldness. "A Betazoid confirmed for me that you have memories buried very deep, but he couldn't access them with your mind intact. So the purpose of all of this –" she explains, waving a hand carelessly at his new prison, "- is simply to break you completely. Then he'll find what I need by sifting through the ruins."

"_Break me?_ How?" He laughs desperately, lunging forward at her against his restraints. They barely budge, but she has the good sense to step back quickly nonetheless. "You can't torture me – you've _tried. _You can't kill anyone else I love – they're all _dead. _How can you destroy what's already broken beyond repair, you deluded bitch?"

She stares at him for a long moment, almost looking remorseful at his agony…before a small, callous smile twists her lips again. "Everyone needs REM sleep, even you," she explains matter-of-factly. "Your brain scans reveal that much to us. So all of this, from the IV lines in your veins to the new neuro-circuitry in your brain will ensure that you never sleep again. Not even for a second - no micro sleeps. You'll go insane beyond repair, eventually, but your blood will keep you alive."

She turns to leave as Khan screams in rage and despair, but he still doesn't miss her next words:

"And then I'll know _everything _about you_."_

* * *

Bones watches Spock and Jim with the same degree of attention he would give when making an incision to remove a brain tumor, or re-routing the heart valve of a patient of some obscure alien species. He finished his work over half an hour ago – Jim is in an induced coma. He's safe for now, and some of the distress has faded from his face. His brain activity has nearly flat lined, but that's predictable and easy to explain, since the kid _is_ in a coma. Bones likes his work to be predictable, and the rare moments that it is are the most gratifying.

Spock, on the other hand…it almost seems as if Jim's tension from earlier simply transferred to him. The Vulcan's face is still set in concentration and his eyes closed, but creases of pain are beginning to form on his forehead and his jaw is tightly clenched.

Bones frowns and reaches for a tricorder, running it over Spock's tense form from a few feet away. His heart rate is elevated for a Vulcan, and his adrenals are over-active. Nothing medically dangerous yet, but Bones has a bad feeling about it. Spock is the most stoic, implacable bastard he knows. He was willing to die in a volcano over breaking a rule.

And now he's _scared_.

"Spock," Bones growls to the unresponsive Vulcan, wishing more than anything that he could _do _something instead of standing around uselessly. He's not even sure if Spock can hear him. "You'd better make this worth it, or so help me…"

* * *

_There had been pain and despair in Jim's mind as they merged, tinged with a sharp undercurrent of fear. Now everything is calm like the rolling of the tide, a sign that Dr. McCoy's work was successful. Spock knows that the deceptive calm will only be temporary, unless he stops the problem at its source._

_Khan._

_Spock can __**feel**__ the augment's presence corrupting Jim's mind as he looks out over a seemingly calm, peaceful blue sea. Water laps at his feet from where he's standing on the sand, and as he realizes what he has to do, his heart flutters in anxiety._

_Mind melds with humans are usually straightforward, as long as the one controlling the connection knows what he's doing. Here, Jim is comatose, and Spock can't communicate normally with him. And while Khan's influence is deep, it's also widespread. It took Spock long enough to confirm that the source of their link is here._

_At the bottom of the ocean, which will end in Khan's mind._

_Having been raised on a desert planet, Spock never did learn to swim well. And he's not naïve enough to believe that the water will be anywhere near as calm on Khan's side._

_But he has to fight the instincts screaming at him to turn back– for Jim. (His t'hy'la). When the captain died, the golden thread anchoring him to light and sanity snapped. Spock hadn't realized how close to the edge he'd been dancing for years until Jim was gone. He had hunted Khan down like a savage beast, and only Nyota's screams to stop, her pleas to save the captain by sparing Khan had reached him._

_Jim had lived because of that mercy, but Spock made a mistake. He should have ended Khan's life when the monster was vulnerable and unconscious in the med bay after the transfusion. And now…while he can't kill Khan, as the augment's body is thousands of light years away, it might be possible to destroy the link without harming Jim._

_As a Vulcan, he was taught never to use his abilities to harm another's mind. But Khan is __**different – **__more of a savage force of nature than a sentient being. And whether or not his action is moral, it is __**necessary**__. Khan tried to murder Jim, and that is unacceptable._

_He takes a deep, calming breath and wades into the sea. Khan will __**pay**__, and then everything will be right with the universe…_

* * *

"Spock? _Spock!"_

Bones shouts desperately at the Vulcan as blood runs freely down his chin. Spock's bitten his lip clean through, and that will require a dermal regenerator. His heart rate and adrenaline are spiking wildly now. _Just what the hell is going on?_

"Spock, if you can hear me, I need you to let me know," Leonard says through gritted teeth. "I can't let you go on like this much longer."

Spock gives Bones no sign that he's still connected with the outside world, and the shadow of pain on his face only darkens.

Bones is completely lost, and he _despises _feeling this powerless. If he tears Spock away from Jim, what will happen to him? He knows next to nothing about mind melds. Will the Vulcan pay the price, or will the friend they're both trying to save be destroyed instead?

Spock doesn't look like his usual stoic self anymore, and his breathing is shallow and panicked.

_What in God's name is happening in there?_

* * *

_He's drowning in a sea of agony._

_Spock gasps for air instinctively, but immediately regrets it as blood-red water fills his lungs and his head spins. His arms and legs are like jelly, and soon he won't be able to move them at all._

_He wants to let the darkness gathering at the edges of his vision claim him forever, but a distant thought of Jim, golden and bright, pushes the shadows back._

_He's almost there, and he has to press forward to save his t'hy'la._

The captain is relying on me to save his life, even if he did not ask for it. I can _feel _it.

_Spock surfaces again in the dark, choppy water, coughing hard as his lungs burn for air._

_He squints until he can see the shoreline, and fragmented pieces of information from Khan's mind transfer to his. As Spock steps onto land and sees his new surroundings more clearly, he realizes with a jolt that it's not Jim's pain and despair he's feeling – it's entirely Khan's. _

_And the truth behind that suffering is different and much worse than he ever expected:_

_It's all because of him._

* * *

**A/N: **Confused yet? Lol...the driving forces of the plot will reveal themselves as the story progresses. Below I've listed basic definitions for some sleep terms I used in this chapter. If you want to learn more, sites like WebMD and Wikipedia are great for information.

REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep - basically dream sleep that everyone needs for proper brain function. When deprived of REM sleep, hallucinations and other problems can occur.

Microsleep - A short period of unconsciousness that is a form of sleep, usually seen in severely sleep deprived people. Khan is being denied even a few seconds of microsleep.

**Thanks so much for the reviews/follows/favs!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Spock stands on the shore of Khan's consciousness, powerless as he's hit with wave after wave of emotion. Each revelation takes his breath away, mostly because he's experiencing them along with the augment._

_(You are not what you think you are – did your creators never let you in on __**that**__ little secret?)_

_(You will never sleep again.)_

_(You will go insane. Your mind will desert you but your body will live on.)_

_And beneath it all, the knowledge that binds each separate band of agony into an unbreakable chain that constricts their heart and lungs, trapping them in misery more profoundly than Section 31 ever could:_

_(My family is __**dead…**__I am alone.)_

_Spock braces himself against the tidal wave of emotion, building a barrier around his own mind before he's swept away and consumed by Khan's bottomless grief and fury. Once he's safe again and his own emotions are reined in, he's able to analyze the situation more objectively._

_His initial reaction is confusion, and not only because Khan's thoughts reveal no destructive intentions towards Jim. In fact, Khan doesn't even appear to be __**aware **__of the deep link to the captain that his blood grants him._

_Rather, Khan's complete certainty that his family is dead is what shakes Spock to the core. As far as he's aware, Khan's people __**are**__ alive – wasn't he the one who gave the order to have them removed from the torpedoes before the augment's inevitable betrayal? Or was that only a dream? A hypothetical scenario from the Kobayashi Maru that never played out in real life? Now that Spock questions it, he isn't certain. He __**remembers **__feeling the explosion that ripped through the cargo bay of his ship, drowning out even his cry of despair…_

_The Vulcan shakes himself, forcing the boundary between their minds up again. In highly complex, dangerous melds such as this one, there's always a risk of losing oneself to the other. Of the walls between minds eroding until both people forget their identity entirely, subsumed by the other._

_Spock can't imagine a worse fate than __**becoming**__ Khan; even the fate that Khan himself will soon face pales in comparison._

_No, Khan's people are alive unless the Federation killed them– Spock's sure of it. But the augment never had the opportunity to see them after his capture, so it's only natural he thought they perished in the explosion. Khan only sees the worst in everyone, and it would never occur to him that he could give or receive mercy._

_And soon enough, within a few weeks, months or even a year, the augment's mind will be gone if the woman studying him is successful. And if Khan goes irreparably insane…whatever happens to him will destroy Jim far sooner._

_Spock will not allow that to happen, but the bond between the two captains is far stronger than he originally thought. Khan's roots have sunk deep into Jim's body and mind. If he harms Khan, he will only be harming Jim along with him._

_But the deciding factor, the one thing that could mean Jim's salvation is the fact that Khan is not aware of the link between them. It changes everything, because if Khan knew about the bond, he would gladly use it to get leverage or revenge. If Spock can seal the link temporarily and stall the worst effects that Khan's torture will have on Jim, it will give him time to act accordingly._

_He can only buy Jim time until they're able to reach New Vulcan and find a proper mind healer. But there still is hope for his best friend._

_As for Khan, however…_

_The man will be tortured until his sanity is gone, assuming that Section 31's machines and drugs are able to keep him awake without interruption. Spock caught glimpses of Khan's prison through the augment's one working eye as he stumbled ashore, and it horrifies him as it would horrify any being with even a shred of compassion. And yet…_

_He has a choice to make here and now._

_In the first scenario, he can take objection to Section 31's experiments (which may not even be technically illegal) and report his findings to Jim, as the captain would expect of his First Officer. Jim would abandon his five year mission in a heartbeat if it meant thwarting Section 31, despite his personal hatred for Khan. The captain is not a man who tolerates injustice, even if that injustice is directed at his enemies._

_He would be killed in the process of saving that enemy, with approximately 98.56 percent certainty._

_The other possibility is…_

_Spock can seal the link and leave Khan's mind, and then neglect to make any report about the horrors he saw there. Jim will be safe for the amount of time it will take to reach a mind healer, a professional who can remove all traces of Khan from Jim's mind, which may protect him from sharing the augment's fate._

_Their five year mission will commence, and they'll discover more never-before-seen planets and species. When they return to Earth, they'll receive promotions and honors for their contributions. And above all, Jim will still be Jim, golden and bright, and Spock will be standing right beside him the entire time. Life will go on for everyone except Khan._

_Spock sees very little that is objectionable about the second scenario._

_He was taught never to take joy in an enemy's suffering, or to decide another's fate without any authority to do so. It's against every facet of Surak's teachings to allow emotion and revenge to guide vital, life-saving decisions, even when those decisions also involve the lives of monsters._

_And yet…_

_Even though Spock has shared Khan's profound suffering, it doesn't __**feel**__ entirely unjust to him. The word 'murderer,' while technically correct, is too much of a euphemism to describe the cold-blooded, savage animal that Spock fought two years ago. Khan had not only bombed the archive and killed Starfleet's highest-ranked officers, including Pike, but he had also fired on the damaged, weaponless Enterprise (and killed __**Jim**__)._

_Even defeat didn't stop his rampage - after the torpedoes crippled his ship, the madman simply chose to crash-land in downtown San Francisco, killing thousands. And based on the history Spock studied on Earth's Eugenics Wars, Khan was also a proponent of genocide. Even after seeing his entire planet destroyed by an insane Romulan, Spock fears the purge Khan would attempt far more. If he had the freedom and resources necessary to continue 'the work he was doing before he was banished,' he would make Nero's atrocities seem like a pleasant dream._

_But if his mind is destroyed in Section 31's research facility…no one else will die because of him in the future. Spock wonders if it would not only be more logical, but also __**moral**__ to leave Khan to his fate. In fact, it would be __**immoral **__to do anything else._

_Spock tells himself the very same as he works hard to seal the gap between their minds, watching as a solid rock wall rises from the seemingly bottomless ocean meter by meter. He suppresses a smile as an undeniable feeling of __**victory**__ surges through him like the tide, drowning any opposition to his chosen course of action._

_Jim is safe._

_And that's all that matters._

* * *

Bones is about to spray a hypo into Spock's neck, damn the consequences, because all of this is getting _weird._ The device is already in his hand and primed to go when the Vulcan looks up calmly, as if he _hadn't _been ignoring Bones' desperate pleas for the past hour.

Figures – the disagreeable bastard.

In contrast to the clear distress on the Vulcan's face for the majority of the meld, during the final few minutes he had seemed at peace – and so had Jim. But…for some reason, that peace had seemed almost eerie and unsettling. There had even been a small _smile_ on Spock's smug know-it-all face, which is an even rarer occurrence than the times when Jim takes his damn health seriously.

Bones stares at him with the hypo in hand, but the Vulcan merely raises an eyebrow, that mysterious and infuriating half-smile still plastered on his face.

"Well?" He prompts when the Vulcan doesn't immediately offer up a report. "Did you teach that monster a lesson?"

Spock logically steps back out of the range of the hypo, anticipating Bones' plans to sedate him as soon as he gives an answer.

"He will not torment the captain ever again," Spock responds calmly, an absolute certainty in his voice, "and Jim's mind should recover completely from Khan's mental attack. He will be just as he was, with 99.78 percent certainty."

That sounds like music to Bones' ears, it really does, but – there's something _off _in Spock's voice and eyes. Something that a casual observer or acquaintance would never notice, and that even Bones himself, who unfortunately spends obnoxious amounts of time around the bastard questions seeing.

_It's probably just an after-effect of the meld, _Bones tells himself, making a mental note to research Vulcan telepathic abilities more deeply when this is over. _Hell, I'd be a bit shaken up too if I had just returned from a trip inside of Khan's head._

He steals a glance back at Jim, whose vitals are comfortably back in the healthy range (for a man in an induced coma, at least). Some of the color has returned to his skin, and his chest is rising and falling evenly.

_How the hell did Spock do what he just did?_ Bones can't help but wonder again, impressed and more than slightly disturbed by the mind meld's powerful effects. But the questions that haunt him the most are the ones about _Khan's_ abilities. If Khan could control and punish people through his blood, what happened to its other recipients?

Lucille Harewood is the only other person who received a transfusion that Starfleet knows about, and Bones hasn't heard any unusual reports about her. Then there's the tribble. The extremely long-lived, hyperactive tribble that reproduces at an alarming rate when its food intake isn't severely restricted.

It's almost as much of a pain in his ass as a certain First Officer – almost.

"I must return to the bridge," Spock reports quietly, his footsteps already moving away. "Inform me as soon as he starts to regain consciousness. And doctor…I think it would be wisest if we _didn't_ tell the captain of Khan's involvement in his illness. It would…_complicate _matters." Bones tears his gaze away from Jim to object to Spock's statement and hasty departure (he has questions he needs answered, dammit), but the Vulcan is already out of his reach.

_Good riddance._

"Well, Jim," the doctor sighs, preparing to bring his friend gently out of his artificial coma, "when you wake up, I guess we'll know for sure if it worked or if Spock's just an idiot…"

* * *

For the longest time, he was drowning in a sea of pure despair and the bitterest solitude. There had been pain, of course, like the sensation of a white-hot nail being driven through his left eye. And of sizzling electric shocks cooking his raw nerves from the inside out. But the strange, unfamiliar pains, although agonizing, weren't nearly as devastating as his knowledge that he's truly _alone_ in the universe. He's the last of his kind now, with nothing left to lose.

Now those foreign but familiar emotions have faded like memories from a distant time and place. As Jim drifts, he questions whether he ever felt them at all.

The soft, distant beeping of machines reaches his ears, as if the sound is coming from the other side of a tunnel. Jim frowns as bright light filters in through his closed eyelids, and he opens his eyes in curiosity, blinking as his blurry vision adjusts.

White sheets. The smell of antiseptic. Spock's concerned face looking down at him from the bedside where he's seated.

_Fuck, _Jim realizes, struggling to sit up until Spock pushes him right back down. _I'm in the med bay. I was on the bridge from what I last remember. I __**should **__still __be on the bridge._

"Spock," he croaks, his throat painfully dry, and the Vulcan reaches for a glass of water and tips a few sips gently past his lips.

"What…what happened? On the bridge – "

"Nothing to concern yourself over," Spock reassures him, frowning at Jim's attempts to sit up and move around. "The danger is past. You had a generalized seizure on the bridge, which Dr. McCoy believes is due to toxins in the environment of one of the exoplanets we visited. A full routine of antibiotics has stopped all of your symptoms."

Spock isn't quite meeting his eyes, and Jim cringes at the thought of how disruptive this whole thing must have been.

"Who else got sick?" He asks, subconsciously hoping that he wasn't the _only_ one. While he would never wish illness on his crew…being the only shrinking violet on a ship full of people would be pretty embarrassing.

"Several crewmembers have also been treated for various symptoms over the past month, although each complaint appears to be unique. Dr. McCoy stresses that with so many new environmental factors to account for, it is difficult to pinpoint a single cause."

Jim nods hesitantly; that does make some sense. Except Spock's still not meeting his eyes, and he seems to be fixated on the equipment monitoring his vitals, instead.

"Spock…I'm sorry. I feel like I abandoned you guys in the middle of a mission."

"That is illogical, Jim," the Vulcan protests immediately, shooting him a critical, disapproving look. "You did not choose to be ill. But you _can _decide to treat your recovery with the seriousness it's due."

"Damn," Jim sighs in mock disappointment, slumping back into his pillows, "more quality time with Bones, in his natural habitat. If only I had some of Khan's miracle blood to speed up my recovery."

He's only joking (because the idea of having Khan's blood in his veins _still_ weirds him out), but Spock's eyes snap back to his, the Vulcan's normally stoic, inscrutable gaze roiling with emotion under the surface. _Apprehension….panic….guilt?_ Jim can't tell with complete certainty.

"Spock…" He says slowly, frowning as a question springs into his bewildered mind, "how long was I out for?"

"Approximately fifty hours," the Vulcan admits reluctantly. "Dr. McCoy put you in an induced coma so he could better control the neurological effects of your illness. But the danger has passed now," the Vulcan repeats, almost as if his reassurance is aimed at himself rather than Jim.

It may only be his imagination, but…something about all of this is starting to smell odd, and Jim doesn't like it. Or maybe his brain is still going haywire from the infection, or whatever it was. Spock would never deliberately hide anything from him…would he?

"I must return," the Vulcan says reluctantly, standing and stopping to squeeze Jim's hand before leaving. "We are temporarily setting a new course." Spock's eyes are fixed on Jim's face, and there's a new intensity in his gaze unlike anything he's seen there before.

"Jim…" the Vulcan admits quietly, "you are my captain. You…are my _friend._ I almost lost you once, and I would do anything to ensure that I never experience that loss again."

Jim stares back openmouthed as the Vulcan drops his hand and turns to leave. A million questions buzz through his mind, questions that he'll have to seek the answers to later.

But he is certain of one thing now:

Spock hasn't told him the whole truth. And he intends to find out what that truth is.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks so much for the favs, follows, and reviews! 3

Spock is being a bit ruthless here, which I hope isn't too OOC. While Spock is a caring friend and a highly moral person, he's not always the kindest to his enemies. He reminds me a bit of Stannis from Game of Thrones - highly concerned with justice, but in a very black-and-white way. Khan hurt them (or rather, hurt Jim) so he will show Khan no mercy. And he will use logic to justify his own revenge to an extent.

Next up: Jim asks some questions of his own as Spock re-directs the Enterprise to New Vulcan, and Khan learns more about his limits.


	4. Chapter 4

_Head Researcher's Log, 2261.65_

_Project: Prometheus_

_Regarding Patient A: augmented human male, approximately 293 years old physically, around 30 experientially._

_74 inches tall, 176 pounds upon last measurement. _

_Blood type: universal/type unknown. _

_Estimated IQ: 380._

_**Day Four:**__ Nearly ninety-three hours have passed since Phase One of Project Prometheus, and the patient has shown no measureable signs of extreme exhaustion up to this point. In comparison, a human being without genetic modification would show obvious signs of acute exhaustion after only twenty-four to forty-eight hours of little sleep in normal conditions. Of course, under experimental conditions, our subject is not permitted to sleep at all._

_Aside from slightly elevated pulse and body temperature, likely caused by stress, sleep deprivation has had no negative physical or cognitive effects on the patient. Lean muscle and tissue appears to be replaced at his normal (if highly elevated) rate. We have every reason to believe that our procedures for keeping the patient awake are successful, since he has been kept from entering stage I sleep on five separate occasions._

_Though every minute that ticks by is precious, Patient A's resistance is accepted and even welcomed in the labs. It is fascinating to test his limits and discover how far we can push them before they crumble. Several of my colleagues have made estimates (or more accurately, loosely concealed bets) as to when the patient's strength and focus will start to wane. _

_The average of the estimates puts the point of no return at 6.78 weeks with zero sleep, though I intend to shorten this window of time by any means necessary. I am confident that the more Patient A's body and mind are stressed, the sooner extreme sleep deprivation will produce the desired results. Then Agent Rennan will be able to retrieve the information I need from the subject's subconscious memory._

_Whenever members of my team voice even fleeting doubts about the extreme methods used on the patient, I reassure them that this is what must be done – for justice, for peace, for progress. The patient himself faced choices like this in his time. Millions died because of the augments, but billions more were saved because of their vision and their advancements. What were the lives of a few million people compared to six billion? What is one life, one mind, against the future of the entire galaxy? _

_Every second that ticks by brings the human race and her sister races closer to greatness. Once Khan's DNA is unlocked, our potential will be limitless._

_Occasional anxiety aside, the atmosphere in the labs is overflowing with energy and optimism. I am starting to see my own drive reflected on my colleague's faces, a sign that we are on the verge of an incredible discovery. Though their goals are worldly and political while I seek pure knowledge, each of our paths leads to the same destination. Khan, your DNA holds secrets from an age long past…or from an age we have yet to discover. Which of those secrets will help us pave the way to a better world?_

* * *

Khan feels himself starting to drift again, past the point of daydreaming and closer to the dark, welcoming shores of rest. He catches himself and pushes his tiredness back before it lulls him to sleep and he's forcibly awoken (again). Such awakenings from the verge of sleep have not been pleasant in the recent past. First, he was electrified. Then he was drugged with a stimulant that made his heart race until it nearly broke free from the cavity of his chest, and even worse, made him _hear_ things - like the voices of his crew, cursing him for his failure and their own ignominious deaths. Begging him (their true killer) for mercy.

He knew that the voices weren't real, but that didn't make hearing them hurt any less.

The forcible lack of sleep and nourishment aren't his main concerns – at least, not quite yet. In the final year of his reign, Khan often stayed awake for well over a month at a time, high on adrenaline. Augments were designed to function without rest, food, and even water for long periods of time. The question of _how long _is what weighs on his mind, but he still has time to plan and strategize before the situation turns desperate.

What concerns him more is _how else _they're attempting to destroy him. The oppressive brightness, humming and frenetic activity in his prison never ceases. The din in his ears is constant and threatens to drown out the sound of his own thinking. What's even worse is the _blinking. _He sees it even when he closes his one intact eye. The strobe light effect from hundreds of machines is no doubt intended to keep him awake, and it's certainly helping. It also makes him feel as if he's going insane from sheer sensory overload.

Metal panels circle around him many times each day, taking full-body scans. Smaller robotic arms extend towards him to prick and scrape small sections of his skin, obtaining the blood and tissue samples the researchers need for their work.

Though every last detail of the cell is horrifying in its own unique way, the pain from his festering injuries is almost worse. Khan can tell that his missing eye is attempting to re-grow itself, but can't because of the metal blocking the socket. Fiery pain surges through his head before it cycles back to a dull, throbbing ache many times each day. He suspects that his body is also attempting to expel the wires buried under his skin. The wounds are scabbed over and leaking fluid, and soon the foreign objects will be forced out – after a lot more pain.

His shoulders are starting to numb from his arms being suspended for so long. Khan tries to shift around occasionally to relieve the pressure, but with both his feet dangling just above the ground and nothing else to hold his weight, any attempt to rest his body is futile.

Aside from a thin undergarment that offers nothing in the way of warmth, he's as naked as the day he was born (or rather, harvested from a test tube) and cold. His body adapts to the semi-frigid laboratory air quickly enough, but sometimes goosebumps still crawl along his skin.

The tortures themselves are trivial enough; he's survived far worse in the past. But it seems he underestimated Section 31's lead researcher. She had delivered a blow with her final words that shook him to the core on that first dark day, without once raising her fist.

Once he learned his intended fate from the doctor, most of the first day in his newest torture chamber was spent in a fog. He had fully realized, for the first time, what humans and their fellow creatures saw when they looked at him.

Not a human being, certainly, but not a sentient being deserving of rights either.

Not a criminal, a murderer to punish for the countless lives he took. If his unmaking was ordered because of revenge, Khan would understand. He's made legions of enemies since his first days awake in this horrible century, and he can freely admit that almost all of them deserve a swing at him.

Not even an animal – in these 'enlightened' times hunting is illegal, and anyone who treated an animal as they treat him and his people would probably end up with a prison sentence.

He's none of those things to them. When they look at him – the researchers at Section 31, Marcus, the corrupt but well-meaning admirals, and even Kirk – all they see is _meat._

A brain that works at three times the speed of a human's, and builds connects exponentially faster. Arms strong enough to punch through solid steel and legs that can keep pace with a 6-speed sports car. Muscles that stay firm and toned with only a few minutes' exercise, if that. A heart that will beat on steadily after a million-volt shock. And blood…blood that appears to defy some of nature's most basic laws, such as the laws of entropy and death.

When they use him to design weapons, reclaim a ship, or break past his sanity's limits with experiments straight out of a concentration camp, they're not interacting with a person or a thinking, feeling being. They're taking the parts of him they need and shoving the rest aside.

To them he is _meat_, a collection of useful tissue – and nothing more.

Dr. Bowers gleefully told him that he would be 'the oil that powers the engine, the fuel of a new age.' Rarely has Khan heard a metaphor that is more apt.

Hanging there, with no hope of escape and a million emotionless, mechanical eyes recording every facet of his despair, he almost lost hope. But on that first day…Khan couldn't help remember the being who had done him the most wrong, who had led him straight to defeat and this latest hell. Kirk's servile First Officer, that Vulcan with cold, biting words and even colder eyes.

He doesn't know why Spock was stuck in his thoughts, but it almost seemed as if the murderer of his people was standing right in front of him, watching his demise play out and _smiling_.

Though imaginary, Spock's smile had seemed like a smile of satisfaction after finally achieving revenge on a hated enemy.

Ironically, Khan's fevered imaginings gave him strength, even with his people slaughtered and his own fate unfolding minute by minute. He's more than meat to _someone –_ Spock would want him to suffer not for what he is, but for what he's done.

The realization offered him a strange, twisted sort of relief. Having his humanity acknowledged even in hatred was a consideration he was not granted for the longest time. Spock would want him to pay for his crimes, to die screaming in agony as his every hope was extinguished.

Khan can understand that all-consuming need for vengeance – what's more, he can respect it. And he intends to survive to return the favor.

He can't deny it – he's trapped in this cell with no way to escape through a physical door on his own. But he's not helpless, as long as he still has his razor-sharp mind and the will to survive and _fight. _He **will** avenge his crew and himself against Spock, even if it costs him his last breath.

With nothing to do in the cell except stare endlessly at a thousand blinking lights, Khan decides to take control of his racing thoughts before they consume him. Instead of wallowing in grief and fury, he will turn these horrors into something productive.

He can't avenge his crew if he remains a prisoner, especially if his mind decays beyond repair in the confines of the cell. Dr. Bowers, the psychotic woman who is currently his only point of contact with the outside world, seems to believe that his mind contains secrets and revelations that only breaking him will reveal.

A Betazoid made the diagnosis, presumably before he woke up after being pulled from his cryotube. Khan's never seen or spoken to a Betazoid, and aside from skimming a few books in the midst of designing weapons for Marcus, he knows next to nothing useful about their species.

So he has no basis for determining if her report of buried memories is accurate or not. But if it is…how will the doctor know if the memories in his subconscious are what she's looking for? Khan has no idea where to begin himself.

_But Section 31 never made any progress, despite months of testing on a being created with __**twentieth**__ century technology._

Her words from their last meeting are an answer of their own, an answer that raises just as many questions as it puts to rest. He's always wondered why Section 31 was so fascinated and baffled by his abilities; after all, back when he was created, genetic engineering was a science still in its infancy. Even if human augmentation was banned hundreds of years ago, they should have _some_ idea of how to proceed replicating his healing abilities now.

_Almost as if…your design is too advanced for our current understanding of genetics._

Khan turns the doctor's words over again in his head. She seemed to be implying…that he _wasn't _created three hundred years ago, or at least the technology used to manufacture him and his fellow augments for war was far beyond its time.

But how, and more importantly - _why?_

He's well aware of the potential of temporal anomalies changing the course of history. That's how Nero appeared 28 years ago, bent on vengeance, and appeared again to destroy Vulcan shortly before the discovery of the Botany Bay.

If the woman was suggesting that something similar happened with the creation of the augments…it still begs the question of _why._

Before he can fake memories that may be his ticket out of this cell, he needs to think of a convincing reason for his existence. What reason would someone with advanced technology have to create super soldiers in a more primitive time?

_Perhaps –_

Khan freezes mid-thought as the section of ceiling directly above his head shifts, and he mentally kicks himself for letting his guard down. They _know _it whenever he finds strength or purpose in his captivity, and they respond accordingly; the instruments in his brain must paint a clear picture of his mental state.

He tenses as a voice reverberates through the room from the speakers. The have never spoken to him directly before, and he's not sure if it's a sign that they're losing or winning.

"It seems we've been poor hosts," a man's voice jeers with a casual, detached cruelty, "allowing you to become bored in our absence. But you don't have to worry anymore, Subject A. I've prepared something very _special _for you…"

Though he's not afraid (not by _that _much, anyway), his heart races in anticipation as something above him begins to whir softly. The sounds of machinery (which are constant here) rarely indicate anything good. If – no, _**when **_- he gets out of here alive, Khan suspects that he will be quite the technophobe.

His sensitive ears pick up the sound of a single drop falling from the ceiling, and he barely has time to frown in confusion before his shoulder erupts in heat and _pain _unique from anything he's ever felt before. He hears sizzling as the stench of burning flesh assaults his nostrils, and he looks down in puzzlement to follow the inferno's path across his skin.

_Acid. _Some form of _acid_ has scorched a black trail an inch deep from the top of his right shoulder to the base of his rib cage, before falling to the floor and making steam rise from the instant corrosion. Khan shuts his good eye immediately before the smog blinds him, but it still _burns_.

_Hydrochloric acid? No – something __**much**__ stronger. Hydrochloric acid only causes minor irritation to my skin._

His shoulder and side are on _fire, _and tendrils of heat from the wound threaten to consume the rest of his body. It's the worst torture they've inflicted on him yet, aside from taking his eye. It's not the pain that shakes him, but the _stench. _And the rising steam from eroding concrete.

He freezes as the machinery above him shifts again, but doesn't retract back into the ceiling to signal the end of the torture. As another drop begins to fall, perfect and deadly, Khan understands better than ever before that this agony is only the _beginning._

Their desire to break him is just as strong as his desire to live and take his vengeance. This is not a battle of wits or weapons – it is a battle of _wills. _And of time and attrition, the only constants he can expect to experience here aside from human cruelty.

The second drop of acid hits his back, and Khan's world is consumed again by the flames of hell, turning his thoughts to ash. All he can hear are his own screams over the sizzling of flesh and concrete.

The sound is a strange sort of comfort.

* * *

_The fields are veiled in thick, dark smoke, and the aftershock from witnessing hundreds of phasers fire at once still blinds him. The sound of thousands of dying screams echoes in his ears, and he knows that it will stay with him for a long time._

_Jim stumbles clumsily through the tall grass, salty tears streaming down his cheeks and running into his mouth as he gasps for air. He doesn't want to run, because that's what cowards do. But he has to take cover somewhere, or the governor and his men will find him._

_He's not sure what will happen if they do, since he wasn't on their list of people to execute. But he's alone, just a kid against hundreds of others who mean him harm. If they could kill all of those terrified men, women and children without hesitation what could they do to him?_

_Jim's stomach heaves and he ducks down in the grass and throws up bile, trying to force the final image of the doomed colonists' faces from his mind. He can't breathe and he can't think. Beneath his terror is an even more powerful force that threatens to consume him completely – a gnawing, biting hunger. Jim hasn't eaten in days, since Kodos cut off the colony's food supply during his deliberations. He's weak and dizzy, and only adrenaline is fueling his escape. And even that won't last much longer._

_To make matters worse, Jim's pretty sure that Kodos has seized the entire colony's remaining food supply. Unless he goes back and begs, he's going to get even hungrier._

I can't go back, _Jim realizes as he watches his tears fall into the dirt, _they'll hurt me. They won't kill me, but they'll **hurt** me.

_He jumps as a loud rumble echoes across the sky, and the dark clouds hovering over the scene of slaughter open up, pouring rain._

At least I won't go thirsty, _Jim thinks numbly, only for his eyes to widen in pain as a drop hits his shoulder. It burns straight through his T-shirt and his skin, leaving a smoking wound behind. He looks up in terror as more drops fall from the sky in a lethal, dreamlike slow motion._

_Jim leaps to his feet and barely muffles a scream as another drop sears its way down his back. He has to find shelter, somewhere with a roof strong enough to survive the onslaught. He pushes his way through the grass, sobbing silently as acid rain burns his skin. The wounds close almost as soon as they appear, his body healing at an absurd rate._

_Watching his blackened flesh become tan and smooth again before his eyes makes Jim want to scream even more than the pain itself. But he can't make a sound – if he does, Kodos will find him. Then the real pain will begin._

_After an eternity of running, the grass parts to reveal a fortified steel structure tangled in the brush, probably an old military bunker left over from the colonization of the planet decades ago. Jim darts for the entrance without hesitation, not knowing or caring if anyone else is inside. The pain has replaced whatever caution he once had, and now all that matters is escaping it._

_He collapses to his knees as he reaches the metal canopy protecting the entrance from the elements. His stomach roils in horror as he looks out and sees the rain dissolving everything there is: the barren fields, the grass, and the homes barely visible in the distance. Even the trees look as if they're __**melting.**_

_But that's not all – something is __**moving**__ on the other side of the field, something not too far from him. Jim squints through the smoke, and he can't help but gasp as he sees that it's a __**person**__ – a man curled up in the dirt, writhing in pain from the acid. Whoever he is, he's clearly too injured to get up on his own._

_Jim bites his lip and hugs himself as the man's agonized screams pierce the silence, with only the sound of falling rain accompanying them. With every second that he spends safe under the canopy, the worse he feels. Guilt curls deep in his stomach, and he hates himself more than he ever thought possible._

I'm a coward, _Jim realizes, _I knew those people were going to die and I kept quiet to protect myself. But I don't have to let **him** die too!

_He'd rather face the rain again than Kodos. And maybe the injured man will help him in return, perhaps by telling him of a safer place to find shelter and food. Jim takes a deep breath and steels himself for the pain, struggling to his feet with the last of his strength and darting through the rain._

_He approaches the pale, dark-haired figure and recognition grips him as he gets closer. His steps falter as he realizes that he's seen that strong jaw and proud bearing before. Suddenly he feels freezing cold, even as the acid melts the skin from his bones._

_Khan looks up at Jim as he claws at his skin, his face going slack with shock and mutual recognition. Jim's scared – more scared than he's ever been in his life. But he extends a hand without hesitation, waiting for the augment to reach up and grasp it._

_Now is the time to be __**brave**__._

* * *

Jim starts awake, his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest. He clutches the covers close as his eyes dart around wildly, half-expecting to see the barren landscape of Tarsus IV.

After a few seconds of staring at the bright, sanitary surroundings of the med bay, his pulse slows and he breathes a shaky sigh of relief.

"Fucking Bones," Jim grumbles as he runs a hand through his hair and attempts to collect himself. The doctor must have slipped him a hypo when he got argumentative about leaving earlier, instead of taking the subtle approach. Jim _despises _hypos, but not for the reasons Bones thinks.

They give him strange dreams, dreams that are colored with the horrors of the past. Usually when he wakes from a hypo-induced sleep he can't remember his nightmares, and all that lingers behind is an undefined sense of terror.

This time it's different.

He remembers _everything._

"Bonnie," he calls hoarsely as he recalls the name of the nurse on duty. After a few seconds the middle-aged woman appears, frowning in concern as she sees him awake. She pours him a cup of water nonetheless, and Jim drains it gratefully.

"What is it, Captain? Dr. McCoy gave us strict orders for this shift – you're not supposed to leave until he clears you for duty first."

Jim flashes her his most humble, innocent smile.

"Yeah, I know. And I wouldn't want to do anything that would get you in trouble with Dr. McCoy," he adds quickly, with a self-deprecating laugh. "It's just…my mother has probably received word of my seizure by now, as is protocol for family members. I just wanted to message her to reassure her that I'm okay myself."

Jim hasn't spoken to his mother in over a year and has zero intention of starting again now, but Bonnie doesn't have to know that. He forces his expression to remain completely guileless as the nurse sizes him up, and smiles to himself as her expression softens.

"All right, Captain," Bonnie sighs, relenting. "He told us not to give you access to technology, but what will five minutes with a tablet hurt?"

"Nothing at all," Jim reassures her, thanking her as she brings him a PADD from the next room. He opens the mail application, pretending to type a letter to his estranged mother until Bonnie leaves to tend to other patients.

From there, Jim wastes no time in using the device's rather limited functionality to hack into the ship's logs. He scrolls through the bridge's daily report and stops cold as he finds what he's looking for: coordinates. The destination behind the change of course that Spock cagily mentioned earlier.

_New Vulcan._

Jim has nearly pieced everything together by now, and he's liking the direction that events are taking less and less. Khan is the reason for his collapse on the bridge – he's known it since seeing the augment in his dream, as clear as waking life. In fact, he's known it deep down all along.

And now Spock is taking him to New Vulcan for some kind of treatment or brain scrub. Somehow Khan has gotten into his head, and Jim is certain that the transfusion from two years ago played no small part in forging the connection.

Perhaps Khan was injured several days ago, and as a consequence he experienced the same effects on the bridge. But the agony caused by the acid in his dream still burns fresh in his memory, and he wonders why that same pain isn't affecting him now. Khan is injured, possibly beyond repair – Jim is _certain _of it. But right now, something is preventing their connection from hurting him further.

He suspects that Spock is behind it, just as Spock is responsible for this latest seizure of power and unauthorized change of course. A Vulcan breaking the rules and lying to achieve his desired objective – Jim is almost as impressed as he is pissed off.

_Shouldn't I be relieved? _He asks himself, wiping the tablet's history before Bonnie returns. _Even if we're changing course, it means that they'll get that monster out of my head for good._

But as Jim thinks of Khan, he doesn't see the savage animal who murdered Pike and fired on his helpless crew with plasma cannons. He sees the desperate man writhing in pain from his nightmare, his eyes begging for deliverance as he reaches back to take Jim's hand.

Jim listens calmly as Spock's voice sounds over the comm, advising the crew to prepare for landing.

He makes his decision a second later.

And an instant after that, Bones walks through the doors of the med bay with an entire squad of guards at his heels.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm so sorry for the long delay (work is busy), but here is a long 5,000+ word chapter, full of action and Spirk! Enjoy! ;)

Thanks so much for the lovely reviews, follows and favs. 3 They really do inspire me to keep writing, and to put my heart into this story.

* * *

_Damn it, _Jim thought to himself as he saw Bones and four redshirts rounding the corner and marching steadily in the direction of his room. _Don't stop here. Just keep fucking walking and I'll pretend I never saw you._

_Just. Keep. Walking._

Of course, he wasn't that lucky. The traitorous group led by Bones and Cupcake slowed and stopped directly in front of his door. He was in a private room, too (captain's privilege was a problem on this ship that someone really _should_ address at some point) so it wasn't as if he had a final bastion of hope to cling to in a roommate. They were definitely here for him.

Jim was unarmed and he suspected that he would soon face some kind of violating Vulcan mind wipe against his will. He couldn't hurt Bones or Spock if he tried, but he had to keep his memories intact, at least until his connection with Khan was no longer necessary.

Until they both were safe.

Bones opened the door and Jim swung his legs over the side of the bed in response, groaning from the unexpected strain as he forced himself to stand. His legs were weak and shaky, and he had to grip the metal brace at the end of the bed to remain upright. It was almost as if his body had gone through an even greater ordeal than a seizure and two days of unconsciousness. He felt as if he'd been physically pushed far beyond his natural limits, drained and faded, and hollowed out at the core.

Bones stepped into the room, signaling to Cupcake and his men to wait in the hall. The doctor finally looked up to meet Jim's questioning gaze, his expression guarded.

"I'm guessing you've already figured out what's going on here," Bones sighed, his eyes falling on the tablet that Jim had just used. "No one's ever questioned your hacking skills, at least not since the Kobayashi Maru incident."

"I didn't cheat," Jim protested automatically, more out of habit than anything else. "But yeah, I think I've figured out what you and that pointy-eared bastard intend to do by stopping at New Vulcan. You both _lied_ to me."

He narrowed his eyes and his fingernails dug into his palms as he watched Bones wither slightly in guilt. But beneath that guilt was something else: a steely determination.

Though Bones was working with Spock to take his command away, Jim could reluctantly admit that both of his friends had the best of intentions. They didn't want Khan in his brain any more than he did, but at the same time, they hadn't _seen _him or felt his suffering. They hadn't considered the larger implications of allowing him to be experimented on by (Jim assumed) Section 31. They couldn't possibly understand his need to take action.

Jim had never wanted to punch Bones more than he did now, or to hug him with all his strength for trying to protect him.

"I understand why you're doing this," Jim added quickly, "I really do. But you could have at least _told _me where Spock was steering my ship. All technicalities aside, it's basically mutiny."

"I wish I could have. But it's not that simple, kid," Bones replied slowly, searching the captain's eyes with a certain clinical wariness, like a zoologist would analyze an unknown and potentially deadly predator.

_He thinks that Khan could be controlling me right now, _Jim realized, a sick, hollow feeling growing slowly in the pit of his stomach and spreading through the rest of his body, _or at least that he's watching everything that's happening through my eyes. They probably all think so._

"He's in your head, if what Spock saw during his mind meld was true. My scans seems to indicate _something _worth questioning, too. And that's why we're here. So we can get him out –" Bones paled the slightest bit as he referred to the augmented warrior whose rampage had ended so many lives, "-and everything can go back to normal."

"Spock saw him in my mind?" Jim repeated, frowning in an uneasy puzzlement. Something about the secrecy of the meld, combined with the haunted look in the half-Vulcan's eyes during his last visit set off an alarm in Jim's subconscious. It was as if something was _wrong_ with this entire scenario, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

Neither of them had spoken Khan's name yet, as if the weight of its single syllable would throw the stakes of the situation into stark relief. Jim knew what the stakes were, and now that the _Enterprise _was nearing New Vulcan, he knew what the consequences would be if he resisted.

If he didn't consent to the Vulcans' treatment, they would forcibly rip all traces of Khan from his body and mind – or attempt to, anyway. Jim knew that he had a snowball's chance in hell of getting his command back until his Spock, Ambassador Spock, and the Vulcan healers were satisfied that every vestige of the augment was erased from his brain.

And if they didn't succeed…then Jim would never leave New Vulcan. The new Vulcan Council would euthanize him before they allowed him to go free in Federation space with Khan in his head, a Starfleet captain's resources and a knowledge of their planet. Even the elder Spock might not be able to convince them otherwise.

"Don't I have a choice in this?" Jim asked petulantly, though he already knew the answer. But he needed to stall, and to hear Bones say it himself. "Federation citizens have the right to refuse medical treatment."

"You have the right to refuse _non-emergency _medical treatment," Bones shot back, in his usual "I'm- a doctor-and-I-know-what's-best" voice. "You could have _died_ two days ago, Jim. And you're not the only one at risk anymore. It's not your fault, but if he _is_ back, we can't just let him bide his time in a Starfleet Captain's head. I'm sorry - I should have seen this coming two years ago."

"It's not your fault," Jim muttered, and he _did_ see the logic behind the argument.

But he didn't have to like it – or accept it.

"You can get dressed. Then we have to go, Jim," Bones said quietly, nodding at the redshirts standing at attention outside of the room. "I'm sorry for the fan club. They're just a precaution until we land – Acting Captain's orders. They won't cuff you, as long as you don't try anything stupid."

Jim seethed with anger as he pulled on his Starfleet uniform with shaking hands, the bright yellow of the shirt mocking him. He knew that Spock was just looking out for him _and_ his crew, which was his job as First Officer. Still, Jim couldn't help but wonder if the Vulcan had never quite forgiven his demotion on his behalf three years ago.

"Can you walk?" Bones asked quietly, moving cautiously to support him. Jim nodded curtly and stepped out of his reach.

"Let's go."

Though Jim had told Bones he was fine, even walking at a normal pace was a challenge. His head was throbbing and his arms and legs felt as if they were moving underwater. Whether his weakness was a side effect of the seizure, two days of hypos and 'antibiotics', or his link to Khan was still uncertain.

Cupcake and his men followed a close distance behind them as Bones guided Jim directly to the docking area. Though the area of the ship they were approaching was humming with activity from crewmembers rushing to and fro preparing to dock, Jim had a sense that the activity was very localized.

This wasn't a ship-wide stop for everyone, but probably for only a few authorized individuals. After the _Narada _incident and the destruction of Vulcan, the survivors were wary of disclosing their location and any information about their planet that could potentially result in another genocide. Jim couldn't blame them for their caution, as it was perfectly logical after the devastation they had suffered.

His mind raced as he attempted to think of a way to stall or escape. Even if he could convincingly fake another seizure, they would probably still bring him to the surface of New Vulcan without delay. That's why Bones was there to provide emergency medical care (and to determine whether Jim was faking). But if he could turn the tables and gain a fraction of control back…then Spock might just relent long enough for him to make a convincing argument.

_Maybe._

Jim snuck a look back over his shoulder, only to meet the cool, steady gaze of Cupcake from the bar fight six years back. _The night when Pike convinced me to join Starfleet._

Jim swore to himself and looked forward again, forcing Pike's face out of his mind and hoping that an opportunity would arise before it was too late. As they reached the docking area, a familiar tall, dark-haired figure looked up at them from his quiet conversation, raising an unfazed eyebrow in response to Jim's death glare.

"Captain," Spock greeted him smoothly, no hint of doubt or fear audible in his voice. But appearances could be deceiving, and Jim knew him better than that.

Spock was even more terrified than he was.

"We will arrive at new Vulcan's space dock in approximately two minutes and thirty-six seconds. A shuttle has been prepared there for our trip to the surface. I trust that you remember my counterpart?"

"Of course I do, _Acting _Captain Spock," Jim shot back as he approached the pair, flanked closely by the guards. He turned to the elder Spock and smiled, despite his urge to strangle his younger counterpart with his bare hands. "How are you, Ambassador? Is everything still going smoothly with colonization?"

The Elder Spock smiled back, his eyes revealing far more emotion and affection for his friend than his younger counterpart's more guarded expression.

"We are safe here, thanks in large part to you," the ambassador answered quietly, his eyes warm and concerned yet still more piercing than a laser beam as they studied Jim's face. "I only wish that we could repay you for it under different circumstances."

"So do I," Jim muttered in response, before the ship stilled noticeably as it was aligned with New Vulcan's orbiting dock. Jim's heart raced as the entry door hissed open, revealing an unfamiliar docking bay with a military-grade shuttle parked inside. A group of wary, fully-armed Vulcan warriors stood at attention, their eyes locked on Jim's face.

_Straight from the frying pan into the fire, _Jim thought anxiously as their commander approached, addressing Jim's men and pointing out how illogical it was to leave him un-cuffed. Cupcake didn't seem eager to heed the advice, and whether it was out of respect for his captain or to maintain his own control over a prisoner, Jim was grateful.

"Enough," the Ambassador called a minute into the increasingly heated exchange, "the captain is our patient. Standard restraints would do little to stop Khan from killing us all anyway, if that is what you fear."

The Vulcan commander exchanged a cool look with the ambassador, subtly challenging his authority while still obeying his order. Watching them, Jim couldn't help but wonder if Ambassador Spock's involvement had angered others on New Vulcan for exposing their planet to a threat. He didn't know enough about New Vulcan's politics to judge, but he filed the question away at the back of his mind regardless.

After the Vulcans verified their identities and searched them thoroughly for unauthorized weapons with full body scans, Cupcake and his men took Jim firmly by the shoulders. They guided him up the ramp of the waiting shuttle with Bones close behind them. Both Spocks and their fellow Vulcans followed them inside, watching impassively as the redshirts strapped an agitated Jim securely into one of the seats. As the ramp retracted and the door closed, Jim felt a brief jolt of terror at the finality of the sound.

The shuttle's engines powered up and it rocketed into the atmosphere, the planet's strong gravitational field exerting a slight but noticeable pull on the small vessel. Despite the harsh conditions designed to mimic Vulcan's natural environment, the pilot maneuvered the ship gracefully and prepared for what appeared would be a smooth landing.

Through it would be far simpler for the _Enterprise _to beam them to the surface, the planet's defenses prohibited such a direct entry. It would be too easy for another terrorist like Nero to slip a weapon inside the atmosphere.

Jim peered out of the window at the man-made desert below them, the sound of both Spocks' soft, half-audible conversation grating on his ears. What was even more troubling was Bones' complete silence. The doctor was sitting across from him physically, but he seemed to be stuck on another plane of existence entirely.

Jim couldn't hear everything the Spocks were saying, but he heard enough for him to get the gist; no matter how logical his arguments were, his words wouldn't be heeded by either of them. Their strong friendship with him and hostility towards Khan had already determined their decision.

But as Spock's battle with Khan two years ago had proven beyond a doubt, logic wasn't the only cue that the half-Vulcan responded to. His emotions for his captain were his weak point, especially when he was most afraid of losing him.

And Jim would _gladly_ manipulate that attachment to serve his own ends.

* * *

"You are completely certain," Spock murmured to his younger counterpart, stealing another quick glance at the fidgeting young man seated on the opposite side of the small shuttle. "I have not yet seen any trace of that monster in his eyes."

"You have not shared his mind recently," the younger Vulcan countered quickly. "I assure you, Khan's influence runs deep. Even Dr. McCoy even suspects that my findings are accurate, and he is the most stubbornly skeptical human I know."

The Ambassador frowned, studying Jim's expression and body language as subtly as possible. The young captain looked exactly as he remembered, though somewhat agitated from being forcibly removed from his ship. If Khan was exerting an influence over Jim's mind, even a subtle one, Spock was certain that he would see it.

The Khan he had known in his timeline was created with human DNA, but in reality he was something fundamentally _different._ Perhaps it was the controlled, fluid was he'd moved, like a jaguar circling its prey, muscles rippling with coiled power. Maybe it was the cool, impassive stare he gave his enemies, an expression that revealed his supreme confidence and unshakeable belief in his own superiority.

Jim didn't look anything like that now, but perhaps Khan was simply a skilled actor. Spock had underestimated him before, and he would never make the same mistake again.

"It is essential to complete Jim's treatment before Khan becomes aware of their connection," his counterpart said quietly but urgently. "If that happens, I doubt that my barrier will last even an hour."

"You mentioned that Khan is in Section 31's custody," Spock reminded his younger self, recalling the desperate, static-filled transmission he'd received over forty-eight hours ago. From there, he had desperately worked to secure the Council's approval to treat Jim on New Vulcan, and had barely succeeded. "Are they responsible for his injuries, and Jim's own compromised health?"

His counterpart stilled, a highly uncharacteristic and almost guilty look crossing his face. He started to reply before a sharp cry from across the shuttle drew their attention.

Jim was slumped forward against the straps, his breathing labored and expression agonized. As they watched, he gasped and grasped his head in his hands, his arms shaking from strain.

Dr. McCoy swore, standing and moving to Jim's side, but his counterpart shot up from his seat even faster to take his place beside the young captain. There was more emotion on his face than the elder Spock had ever seen, and an urgency in his movements that revealed something more than friendship.

Spock stood as well, his joints protesting from the abrupt movement. He frowned as he saw that Jim wasn't responding to McCoy's and his counterpart's quiet pleas, but instead was squeezing his head even _harder_, his fingers splayed against his skull.

_Almost as if –_

* * *

"Jim," he heard Bones call firmly over the sound of his heavy breathing, a hint of panic creeping into the doctor's voice, "look at me, kid. Or I'm gonna have to sedate you."

Jim pressed harder against the curvatures of his skull, just as he'd seen Khan do to the unfortunate Admiral Marcus back on the _Vengeance._ He didn't have an augment's strength and highly doubted that he could crush a human head, especially his own head, but he knew that both Bones and Spock would react to the familiar image.

He also knew that he needed to keep up his performance, and that being sedated would ruin any tiny chance he had at escape. This wasn't his most brilliant plan ever, but it was all he had to work with before the shuttle landed on New Vulcan's surface. The much stronger gravity there would give Spock and his men just one more advantage over him, making escape literally impossible.

He looked up at Bones' and Spock's panicked faces, making as much desperation shine through his eyes as possible.

"_Stop him…."_ Jim hissed through gritted teeth, "Spock…he's trying to…"

The half-Vulcan grabbed his wrists immediately, tearing his hands away from his skull with some effort. Jim was stronger than he used to be before the transfusion, but he still wasn't on Spock's level.

Spock shouted to one of the soldiers to bring him cuffs as Jim thrashed in his seat, his hands bruising the captain's wrist bones as he labored to hold him still. As the warrior approached, a set of industrial-strength shackles in his hands and a phaser holstered at his waist, Jim slowly ceased his struggles and gave his First Officer a shaky, grateful smile.

Over Spock's shoulder, he saw Bones preparing what could only be a strong sedative from the medical kit he'd brought aboard. If Jim was going to act, then he had to act _now._

"Captain?" Spock asked quietly, his normally impassive eyes wide with fear. "Is he gone?"

Jim nodded shakily, allowing a few perfectly timed, panicked tears to slip past the corners of his eyes. Spock's expression softened immediately, his look mirroring the one he'd given Jim on that fateful day two years ago with the glass separating them like a billion light years of distance. His vicelike grip on Jim's wrists loosened _just enough, _and in that instant Jim understood why Spock had pursued Khan with such unstoppable fury after his death.

The Vulcan soldier reached out to shackle him, but Jim was faster. He jerked his arms free, hitting Spock in the chest with enough force to knock him backwards off his feet, gasping for air. At the same time, he snatched the phaser from the warrior's holster as the man moved to stop him, throwing the cuffs aside.

It was too late.

The weapon _was_ set to kill and Jim smiled grimly, wasting no time in pointing it at his head. The Vulcan guards surrounding him raised their own weapons without hesitation, while the redshirts took a little longer to aim at their captain, glancing at Cupcake for confirmation.

Spock sat up quickly, his eyes wary as he struggled to catch his breath. Bones was looking at him with undisguised terror, but Ambassador Spock's gaze was more calmly calculating.

"Release the straps," Jim commanded, looking straight at the elder Spock. "Or I swear to god that I'll pull the trigger, Ambassador. I don't want to hurt anyone here, but I won't let you fuck with my mind without _listening _to me first."

"Jim," Bones pleaded slowly, speaking to him as if he was trying to coax a wild animal back into its cage, "Whatever he's doing to you, whatever he's threatening you with, you don't have to listen to him. Just put the phaser down, and we'll talk it out. Nobody here means _you _any harm."

Jim shook his head, laughing in disbelief at the obvious lie. The second he dropped the phaser, he would be pelted with at least six stun blasts. Then they would restrain him properly, take him in cuffs to New Vulcan and burn through every corner of his mind until Khan was forced out.

What would remain of him once they were finished? Jim wasn't sure, but he _did_ know that Section 31 would live on to continue its terrible work. He didn't want a monster like Khan inside of his head, but it was a small price to pay to win the larger, more important battle.

"I believe that Section 31 is _planning_ something," Jim explained quickly while he still had the upper hand, "and I _know _what Khan is. I've seen what he's capable of firsthand. But if you rip him from my mind, we may never know what's coming until it's too late. This is our chance to potentially save millions, even _billions_ of lives – not just his. Not just mine. So release the straps and take me back to my ship," he repeated, his voice unwavering and deadly. "Throw me in the brig if you want – I don't give a fuck. But you have ten seconds to drop your weapons, or you'll be sweeping my ashes off of this chair."

Jim locked eyes with Spock's older counterpart as he verbally counted down, wondering if he could out-bluff a Vulcan. He didn't intend to die, but if he gave in and let the Vulcans go ahead with their treatment, he had a terrible feeling that they would lose _everything._

"Lower your weapons," the ambassador ordered his men, taking Jim wholly by surprise. "He won't harm you. Khan would never take such a reckless course of action facing these odds. Right now, he is entirely the brazen Captain Kirk that I recognize."

Jim smiled slightly at the older man, deciding to take his words as a compliment. He exhaled in relief as Cupcake and his men lowered their phasers to their sides almost immediately. Unease quickly settled in, however, as he realized a second later that one of the Vulcan warriors wasn't heeding the command to lower his weapon.

"Stand down, lieutenant," the commander ordered icily. "We all agreed to defer to Ambassador Spock's judgment for the duration of this mission."

"His conclusions are based on sentiment, not logic," the rogue Vulcan argued back, his dark, steady eyes fixed on Jim's, "And that sentiment will only bring our people closer to destruction. It would be preferable if this creature died here, rather than allowing him to live to carry out his genocidal promises."

"Stand down, Selok," the commander warned again. "You swore to heed the Ambassador's word."

"I swore to defend _our people,"_ Selok shot back, "and that priority takes precedence over indulging the Ambassador's sentiments. If anyone attempts to stop me, I will kill him immediately. Notice how approximately thirty-two seconds have passed, and he still hasn't carried out his threat."

"Do it, then," Jim whispered back, his hand shaking as he started to depress the trigger, "but you won't be able to stop Section 31 if I die."

The young Vulcan considered him for a long moment, attempting to judge whether or not he was telling the truth. Out of the corner of his eye Jim saw Cupcake move suddenly, drawing his phaser again with unexpected speed. Before he could scream at his Chief Security Officer to stop, the man had already fired at Selok. The stun shot hit the warrior in the shoulder, but not before he pulled the trigger too.

A supernova of light and heat exploded around Jim, missing his head by mere inches. The blast was hot enough to disintegrate the metal and machinery behind him, and as Jim looked back over his shoulder as the entire cabin shook, he knew what would happen before it did.

An entire wall of the ship blew off, spiraling down end over end to the sand hundreds of feet below. Several redshirts and Vulcans standing closest to the breach were torn from the ship into the sky, screaming as their deaths rushed up to meet them.

The ship's defensive mechanisms kicked in and a force field began to power to life to shield the remaining passengers desperately trying to hold on. It was too late for Jim, however – the blast had melted and torn his seat loose from the others, and he was sliding across the floor and out the side of the shuttle before he could even scream.

But he wasn't alone.

"Jim!"

Spock had caught his arm and was hanging on with all his strength, even though he knew that following Jim meant certain death for both of them.

_I'm sorry, _Jim thought mournfully as they fell to their deaths, _I did this to you. I should have listened for once in my life. I should have trusted you._

The straps cutting into Jim's skin tore loose in the wind, and the seat spiraled away from them on its own. Jim hugged Spock close with all of his strength as the red sands below them rose higher and higher, filling his vision. Soon they both would be just another red splotch on those sands, but before they died together…they would _live _one last time_._

Jim crushed Spock's lips to his and the Vulcan kissed him back with an equal desperation, as if he had finally found the one thing he'd been searching for his entire life. Jim's heart soared higher than the clouds circling the atmosphere even as their bodies plummeted to the ground.

He didn't dare look down, because that would mean looking away from Spock. But he _did_ control his fall, shifting so that he would hit the ground first, absorbing the full force of the impact. At least one of them would leave a pretty corpse behind.

_Falling is just like flying, _Jim mused as the wind tore at his skin and his lips melded with Spock's. They fit perfectly into each other's arms, and soon Spock was all there was left in Jim's universe. All of his fears, hopes, and plans spiraled away to the wasteland below as the wind stripped him bare, leaving nothing left but the feeling of Spock's mouth on his own, and of the Vulcan's strong hands tangled in his hair. And the feeling of two hearts beating side by side in perfect synchrony, becoming one in their last instant before death.

Then the impact became his entire universe. All Jim knew was the sound of his bones shattering and the shock of having every last molecule of air forced from his lungs. His ribs broke into a thousand tiny fragments and ripped through the soft tissue of his heart and lungs like bullets through water.

It was pain beyond pain, it was the height of life and knowledge itself, it was _light_ – and now that light was flickering, fading forever.

Then the darkness became his universe, and Jim knew nothing at all.

* * *

Millions of miles away, Khan Noonien Singh paused mid-scream as the instruments controlled by his sadistic captors peeled another piece of rotting, corrupted flesh off of his back for analysis and enjoyment.

The pain of this particular torture…utterly defied comprehension. He thought that he had screamed when the _acid _dissolved the skin on his back and sides piece by piece over an hour ago, but the sounds he was making now weren't even close to human.

And he could hear them _laughing, _mocking him through the thick walls of the cell.

_If I ever escape, _Khan promised himself, _these creatures will be the first to pay._

But something had just stopped those screams, and it wasn't because of anything the researchers had done. Something had shifted within him, and the world suddenly seemed very different.

Swirls of color danced before Khan's bloodshot eyes, made even more garish by the gleaming white walls of his prison and the obnoxious blinking lights. His splintered mind worked desperately, sifting through its crystalline fragments to find an acceptable answer to the sudden, perplexing new feeling of profound _joy. _

At the same time, Khan's abused body ached for unconsciousness and the restorative rest that only sleep could bring. For the first time since his capture, he truly realized that his time was limited. His body repaired itself at an incredible rate, but those repairs were already slowing down. Even augments needed food and sleep eventually to stay healthy, _especially _if healing of this magnitude was required.

He was fairly sure that they were feeding him through a tube, but he hadn't caught even a wink of rest yet. The torture kept his adrenaline levels high, forcing him to remain awake even as the oppressive tiredness dragged his cognitive abilities down to the level of a human's.

Khan scoured his mind, shuddering as another piece of blackened skin was peeled away from muscle and bone – what remained of it, that was. _Yes…_there _was_ something.

During the height of his torture today, he had experienced an unexpected connection in a deep, buried part of his mind that he had not accessed in centuries. The area of his mind that had once buzzed with the emotions, thoughts, perceptions and dreams of his people. That connection was firing again, blinking in and out of existence erratically like a light flickering on and off.

He and his people used to be eternally linked through their shared blood, but now his crew was dead. Since his fellow augments were gone and forever out of the picture, the list of people he currently shared blood with was depressingly short.

He didn't even have to guess who had reached out to him – he already knew. And the captain would _pay_ for bringing him back to be torn apart and repaired like a lab rat – like a _slave_. But especially for taking his _family_ away from him.

Khan scoured for the source of the connection, intending to flood Kirk's mind with his agony, only to be stopped by a crude but strong mental barrier. He seethed, the image of Spock's satisfied face appearing before his eyes again for the second time that week. His torture must already be affecting the young captain, or Spock wouldn't think to put up a barrier. Once that wall fell, however, Kirk's fragile human body and mind would be consumed by Khan's pain like a log in an inferno.

He would make certain of it – but he would also make Kirk's death as slow and painful as possible for both the captain _and_ his lover_._

Before his sanity and body were destroyed beyond repair, Khan would relish this one last unexpected pleasure.

He gathered every last remaining bit of his strength, grief and rage, using his pain to break apart the barrier like a battering ram. The connection blazed strong again as he touched Kirk's mind, but it was almost _too _unnaturally strong, and far too bright.

Then that light flickered out of existence entirely, extinguished with a crunch of bone and the sickening feeling of blood seeping across desert sands.

* * *

Don't be mad at me...all will be explained soon...^^


	6. Chapter 6

She paced the length of her office again, back and forth and forth and back until she thought that she would wear a hole through the expensive carpet. The entire time, her eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the monitors lining the back wall of the room, displaying detailed readings on the man she was trying so determinedly to break.

When one of her junior researchers had approached her yesterday with a new concoction to test on the prisoner and eyes bright with revenge, she had admittedly been intrigued. The young man had lost his fiancé in the _Vengeance _crash over two years ago, and had only recently learned that Khan was the man responsible. To punish the augment, he had created some hellish mixture of sulfuric acid and a newly-discovered alien toxin that sloughed flesh right off the bone.

It had worked only too well at first, causing the areas of the augment's brain that processed pain to light up like a Christmas tree. But now, only hours later, even as her researchers flayed the burnt, corrupted skin off of his back…Khan was exhausted and pushed to the very limits of his sanity, yet calm. Though his vitals were careening off the charts as his sleep-deprived body desperately tried to repair itself, his brain scans revealed an almost trancelike serenity and focus.

His sudden determination was fueled by a rage that burned so hot she sensed it could consume the facility he was imprisoned in, ignite what remained of San Francisco in an inferno of bottomless hatred and extinguish the stars themselves, one by one.

_If_ he ever happened to get free.

He wouldn't, as long as she held command over this facility. And yet…

While she had seen _and _caused many terrible things in her lifetime, she would be lying completely if she claimed that his eerie, focused, and utterly inhuman rage didn't send a shiver down her spine.

"- important to not only focus on the physical aspect, but on the mind itself –"

The agent sitting at her abandoned desk was speaking to her, his voice soft and subdued but also unsettling in a way that chilled her from the inside out the longer she listened to it. Rennan was undoubtedly lecturing her about something that Betazoids found important, but the words just rolled off his tongue and into her ears, the sounds registering with her auditory cortex but failing to be converted into anything meaningful.

Agent Rennan himself was a necessary evil until it was time to harvest the subject's repressed memories. And after he told her of their contents, his work with Project Prometheus and this branch of Section 31 would be over. He was aware of the arrangement, and had agreed to disappear quietly after receiving a hefty sum in the form of a bank transfer.

She would rather have him killed, but unfortunately he could and did read her thoughts. She was aware that he knew of her revulsion for him, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

Just like with Khan, she would do whatever was necessary to ensure the future of her research, even collaborate with someone whom she wanted nothing more than to destroy. The future of her _species _depended on it_. _The old, buried horrors that dredged their way up to the surface of her mind whenever she was in Rennan's presence had nothing to do with her unease – _nothing at all._

"- does not experience pain as you or I would," the agent continued softly, his tone making her stomach turn. Sometimes it was hard to accept that he looked exactly like any middle aged human man, yet possessed the power to sift through her worst memories like opening a book to the desired page. Only his eyes with their distinctive black irises set him apart, pulling her down into a place of infinite darkness and depth where she struggled to rise again.

"A torture that would drive a normal man insane in seconds, _if_ he lived that long, has little lasting effect on Khan even in his moderately sleep-deprived state. Your little experiment from this afternoon should be a good indication of that."

Her eyes narrowed at Rennan's insubordinate tone, but a retort was already on her lips.

"He _screamed,"_ she replied, turning to meet the Betazoid's eyes and smiling grimly. "I heard it. You must have _felt _at least some of it. The stimulus was producing the desired response up until fifteen minutes ago. But just now…something's _changed,"_ she mused, frowning at her own lack of knowledge, her lack of _control._ "And call it a gut instinct, but I don't think it's a variable that we can control."

"I share your uncertainty about the cause," Rennan replied, mercifully taking his eyes off of her to study the video feed of the subject in question. "But as I was explaining before you tuned me out, attacking the body is secondary to attacking the mind. When Khan woke and remembered his crew's apparent deaths, he lost all _hope, _so I suspected that breaking him would be straightforward from there. But now…something has given him that hope _back."_

She frowned, weighing the telepath's words against what she already knew and what she merely suspected. There _was_ something different about Khan, but the dramatic change had occurred only minutes ago. She needed to know _what _had changed, or she felt she would have little hope of stopping whatever it was.

"I want you to examine him again when they're done," she said after a long pause, conceding the point as she returned to vigilantly watching the screens. Not that it was necessary to voice her agreement – Rennan had already seen it in her head.

As she watched the augment's deadly focus intensify even as her colleagues inflicted more pain, she truly appreciated that she wasn't holding all of the cards in this game yet. There was something else, something _more…_

Her musings were cut short as the monitors flashed red and the system blared a warning that sounded across the entire facility. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw that Khan's heartbeat, oxygen levels and even _body temperature _were falling at a rapid, unprecedented rate.

She had no idea why. But one thing was certain: if she didn't intervene _fast_, he would be dead.

Without wasting a second she ran for his cell, not even caring that Rennan was following close behind her.

* * *

The alarms, panicked voices and chaos surrounding him became more distant as his heartbeat slowed and his chest struggled to rise and fall. The air _burned_ as he drew it in, and as time went by, Khan found it easier to take shallow breaths.

From galaxies away, he could feel the machines that had carried out his torture cradling him, injecting medications into his bloodstream and compressing his chest to force him to breathe more steadily. Twisted metal, wires and blinking sensors wound around him like a bizarre chrysalis, lowering his body to the floor and piercing beneath skin and muscle to support him like a second skeleton.

An icy chill was sweeping over his entire being_, _leaving a profound cold in his bones that he knew was far more permanent than the chill caused by the lab's semi-frigid conditions.

The entire time, his body cried out for the rest it had been denied, only this time it would settle for a far more permanent sleep. A rest and peace that would last for an eternity.

None of that mattered to him; questions of life, death and eternity were for men who had something left to lose. Khan had nothing and no one left in the universe, but ever since he'd felt the shockwaves of Kirk's death tear through his mind, all that existed was his rage.

It acted as a crucible, burning all of his doubts and fears to ashes and giving him the strength and purpose to act.

His utter loathing for the hypocritical boy captain who had given him a brief, tantalizing glimpse of hope, only to snatch it away burned him more than any torture Section 31 could concoct. He was a singularity of densely-packed hatred that threatened to radiate outwards to engulf the cell, the lab, and the entirety of the universe.

Kirk was dead, and once upon a time that would have filled Khan with at least a nominal sense of satisfaction. But now, despite the phantom pain that had coursed through his mind as the captain's bones shattered from the impact, he felt as if Kirk had gotten a reprieve. A quick death was too easy – the captain deserved to live on and _suffer._ He deserved to experience at least a fraction of the agony that Khan had known his entire life.

But that also required Kirk to live.

Back in another era when Khan still had a family, he and his fellow augments used their connection to lend each other strength when needed. Though they were nearly impossible to kill with bodies that resuscitated themselves, death was inevitable in certain circumstances. After fighting for days on end, exhausted from being hit with bullet after bullet while dodging grenades and air strikes, a bit of borrowed energy and focus could make the difference between life and death.

Kirk was no augment, and he didn't deserve the honor of sharing what Khan and his people had once shared. Yet in a twisted way, his bond was Kirk was the only concrete reminder he had left of his people. And if he could use it to make one of their murderers suffer, all the better.

But as the world went blurry and his remaining eye fluttered closed, Khan realized that perhaps he'd put too much of himself into Kirk. Even if he managed to forcibly heal the captain from afar, it was at the expense of his body's own desperate repairs.

_One of the only ways to truly kill an augment, _he thought with amusement, his final breath rattling from his chest as an ironic chuckle, _and I'm the one to use it._

As his consciousness spiraled down slowly into a vast, welcoming darkness and his heart sputtered to a stop, Khan heard the frantic voices of Dr. Bowers and a new, unfamiliar associate panicking over the loss of their prized lab rat.

_Too late, _he thought grimly, finally understanding Kirk's joy and sense of absolute freedom in the instant before his death. Even his anger was fading in favor of resignation and acceptance. _I __**win**__, Starfleet__**. **__Use this chance well, Kirk, and live on to protect your crew. It's time for me to rest, now, and see my own…_

* * *

As soon as the ship touched down on the sand, Spock lowered the bridge and stepped outside into the red waste, feeling as if he was moving through the altered terrain of a nightmare. As he caught a glimpse of two dark shapes through the swirling sheets of sand and wind, he knew what he would find. Several others had fallen from the ship at the same time as the captain and commander, but not in pairs.

But he had to look upon them at least once, and see their faces for himself. He would never be at peace again if he didn't.

_(He would never be at peace again if he did.)_

Spock approached the pair with a haste he didn't know he was still capable of, inhaling sand into his lungs and wishing more than anything that he could also be disembodied and swept away by the wind. He was vaguely aware of others moving alongside him, urging him to stop and not subject himself to the horror of seeing the two people he cared for most dead.

_I failed you, _he lamented, the thought echoing through his head and refusing to fade._ Your deaths are my fault, it is entirely my - _

Spock blinked, torn from his trance as a human officer in a red shirt and one of his own Vulcan soldiers shoved past him, kneeling before the bodies to verify their identities.

Spock shuddered, feeling an ominous moisture gather in his eyes as he saw a frightening amount of blood soaking into the red-tinted sand several meters away. Despite his earlier promise to himself, he couldn't bring himself to look directly at the bodies. It was illogical, but seeing them cradled in each other's arms, empty eyes staring up at eternity would only make the nightmare real.

"He's ALIVE!" The Starfleet officer shouted suddenly, prompting cheers among the humans and disbelieving murmurs from the Vulcans. Spock stared quizzically at the man's overjoyed but panicked face, not quite believing his own ears. "Kirk's _**alive!**_ Spock too! But we need help here – we need help _fast."_

Spock rushed to the man's side, his paralysis broken upon hearing the desperate plea. He paled as he finally looked upon the fallen pair, with bones jutting through flesh at unnatural angles and blood running from their mouths, evidence of internal organ rupture.

They were still embracing each other despite the force of the impact only moments before, and it was clear that Jim had landed first and absorbed the worst of the impact. The back of his head was a soft, bloody mess, but he was breathing weakly, each inhalation scraping painfully past his nose and into his lungs.

He was _alive, _and Spock's heart soared. But his counterpart…

"My counterpart," Spock shouted urgently, "He isn't breathing. You must –"

Without a second thought, the human lieutenant pulled Spock free of Kirk, compressing the young Vulcan's chest and forcing air into his lungs. His counterpart's face was stark white, and his skin looked like it would soon be cool to the touch. While his head and neck appeared undamaged from the fall, the bones in his arms and hands were twisted and shattered, with greenish blood trickling from the wounds.

"Come on, Commander," the red-shirted officer begged the unresponsive Vulcan as Dr. McCoy appeared at his side, lugging his emergency medical kit with him. The doctor swore as he saw the full extent of the pair's injuries but moved quickly and competently, preparing his portable defibrillator and screaming at everyone to stand aside.

His counterpart's body convulsed as McCoy pressed the device firmly onto his chest, and Spock's heart nearly stopped itself as he saw that it wasn't _working_.

"You obstinate son of a bitch," McCoy growled, "if you die on me now, after all the misery you've put me through…I'm gonna follow through on my word and hook Jim up with Dr. Marcus."

The doctor gave his counterpart's chest one final, brutal shock, and the Vulcan's eyes shot open as he gasped painfully, struggling to draw air into his lungs.

"There we go," the doctor sighed, slumping in relief as he shut down the defibrillator. When Spock looked closer, he could see tear tracks glistening on McCoy's cheeks. "Time to get these troublemakers back to the ship so I can keep them alive, and then we gotta find the others. I need a trained medic to help me move them."

One of the Vulcan survivors volunteered, and Spock exhaled in relief though he knew the worst was far from over. Even if his counterpart lived, his recovery would be uncertain and painful.

And Jim…from the impossible and chilling rate of healing that Spock was observing with his eyes alone, physical recovery wasn't the issue - it was what Khan had in store for him afterwards.

For some twisted reason, the augment had saved Jim's life. Spock wasn't certain that he wanted to know why.

* * *

She stared unblinkingly at the scene if front of her, fascinated and disturbed in equal measure. Alarms blared mockingly in her ears as researchers and assistants crowded in the entrance of the cell, both to help and to witness the spectacle for themselves.

An overzealous lab assistant pushed past her, moving towards Khan and Rennan in her eagerness to preserve the specimen.

"Dr. Bowers, please allow me to assist, I know CPR –"

"Stand _**back, **_you stupid girl,_**"**_ she shouted, pulling a phaser from her belt and brandishing it at the young woman's head. "Can't you see that he's trying to _focus?"_

The assistant scampered back to the door, suitably chastened. She lowered the phaser to her side, watching Rennan work in equal parts horror and admiration. The Betazoid's fingers were pressed to Khan's temples, his eyes closed and concentration absolute as he attempted to preserve the augment's brain function.

The machines cradling Khan were manually stimulating his heart and lungs, forcing his blood to circulate until a pulse was restored. They were programmed to treat unauthorized interference as a threat, and several had detached from their victim, winding up Rennan's arms and growing barbs and blades that buried themselves deep in the agent's skin.

Rennan didn't grimace or even blink, but she thought she could see sweat gathering on his brow. He was clearly struggling, and if he didn't succeed in reviving Khan, all of her work, plans, hopes and dreams would amount to _nothing._ Khan was the key – the one and only key to _everything._

_Bring him back, Rennan, _she begged silently, _or you will be taking his place._

She wasn't sure if he heard her silent threat or cared if he did, but suddenly the monitors lining the back wall of the cell flashed green, indicating a pulse and safe levels of brain activity. Khan gasped, inhaling weakly as Rennan sank to his knees from exhaustion and blood loss. She slumped and leaned against the wall for support, laughing in profound relief as the men and women crowded in the door cheered.

The machinery reluctantly unwound itself from Rennan's arms and hands, leaving numerous deep, wide gashes behind. "One of you get him a doctor, _now," _she ordered her staff, "and take the rest of the afternoon off for yourselves. There will be no more experiments today, as the subject needs to recover."

Even if she despised Rennan on an instinctual level, he had just saved the culmination of her life's work, and she needed him alive and healthy for what came next.

The Betazoid smiled at her as blood ran down his mangled arms, staining the acid-eaten white floor a bright red. She shuddered as she looked into his obsidian eyes, seeing horrors there far worse than her mother's limp body on a smoking field or even her father's half-eaten corpse.

"The things I saw in his mind…are quite fascinating_, Rebecca_," Rennan whispered, putting an ironic emphasis on the name that mocked the new identity she'd tried so hard to build.

"I think you should put me in charge of his breaking from now on, in place of this technology," he continued matter-of-factly, "because his _mind _is where he is most vulnerable. I can find the weak point in any mind, and once I do, the entire artifice _shatters."_

In the end she could only abide by Rennan's request, though she _did _sympathize with the warrior from the past. The horrors she'd faced under Kodos were fun and games compared to what Khan would experience under Rennan's supervision.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Errrrm yeah….another action-packed chapter ;) BUT EVERYONE IS ALIVE! :) Yay?

There are probably a lot of medical inaccuracies in my descriptions, but please bear with me as I frantically consult Wikipedia over the next few chapters.

As far as "Rebecca" being on Tarsus IV…this is an alternate timeline, so I decided to just roll with it, even if she wasn't one of the original canon survivors. Who knows, it might be important later on! ;)

Thanks so much for reading, and for the wonderful feedback and support!


	7. Chapter 7

"Do you really think this will work? The man is extremely dangerous. You just said it yourself – his mind is _different_. And he's irrational and has absolutely nothing left to lose. What if you can't control him on your own?"

"Then I suppose he'll kill me, and become your problem again."

"I don't exactly find that reassuring."

"You_ should_. I promised to get you the answers you need, and taking this one risk will pave the way for everything that comes next."

"_How?_ How will playing mind games with him get me the information I need?"

"You don't want to know the answer to that. Best to just observe and wait."

"…Fine. Do whatever you think is necessary. As long as you break him beyond repair, I'll consider your work to be a success."

* * *

For the longest time, Khan drifted on a sea of nothingness, his body and mind unresponsive to the world around him. If he had even the slightest awareness of his surroundings, he would have noticed being taken out of his restraints for the first time in days, and being transferred onto a soft bed.

He would have felt skilled hands carefully removing the wires embedded in his skin and bandaging the wounds on his back. He certainly would have realized that there was no longer an agonizing hunk of metal lodged in his left eye socket, and that the constant, maddening humming and blinking of machinery had ceased.

When he regained consciousness after what seemed like a hundred years, his head spun in confusion as light filtered in through his closed eyelids. It took him the better part of a minute to realize that he wasn't in the cell anymore, the room of despair with a thousand blinking eyes and steam rising from the acid-eaten floor.

Instead, he was lying on an actual _bed – _the first real bed he'd enjoyed since the twentieth century, with a warm blanket and soft pillows. It didn't feel as if he'd been restrained in any way, and as he tested his theory by cautiously moving his arms and legs by small increments, he discovered to his shock that he wasn't.

His shoulders were still sore and knotted from bearing his weight for days, but they would loosen up once he started to move around.

Even the agonizing, indescribably irritating piece of metal in his mangled eye felt as if it was gone. Khan raised shaking fingers slowly to probe at the wound, only to feel the soft skin of his empty eyelid and no hint of metal beneath his fingertips.

It was clear that _someone_ had removed him from the cell and treated his wounds, but Khan didn't know who, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to begin speculating _why _just yet_._

_What happened that prompted this…mercy?_ He wondered as he wrapped his arms around himself under the covers, knowing deep down that this wasn't a mercy at all. Before the deep, comfortable darkness, there had been fury. A rage that burned so hot it threatened to consume him from the inside out. Then there had been panicked voices, and a feeling of resignation, of acceptance…and finally…of _victory?_

Then there had been a profound cold, and nothing at all. Only static.

_Where __**am **__I?_

Khan cautiously opened his right eye, adjusting slowly to the soft light and seeing that he was in a standard-looking, but not entirely uncomfortable hospital room. There was a nondescript steel door opposite his bed that didn't look as if it had a force field or a sophisticated locking system, but Khan couldn't be sure without walking over to test it.

There was a needle secured to his forearm with adhesive and gauze, supplying a clear fluid into his veins that could have been water or something far less innocuous. Khan had no patience to find out, so he simply tore the needle from his skin, ignoring the liquid that spilled on the floor at a steady rate from the IV line.

Machines worked softly beside his bed, monitoring his heart rate, pulse, brain activity and other vital functions. Bile rose in his throat as he stared at them, remembering how the technology back in his cell had measured the same values, clinical and uncaring as he was ripped apart. Even though these seemed to be typical hospital equipment with a mundane function, he found that he had to look away quickly as the slight tremor in his hands intensified.

The radical shift in tactics on Dr. Bower's part made no sense, though Khan knew it was intended to give him false hope. It wouldn't work, yet something else unsettled him more than thinking about what else the esteemed doctor had in store for him.

It seemed as if his body was nearly healed, but his head had just been hit with an armored tank. His limbs were weak and shaky underneath the soft covers, but he wasn't in nearly as much pain as before.

Yet the exhaustion that had been his constant, looming companion in the cell had lingered. It felt as if he had barely slept at all, despite the fact that his wounds would have required many hours of rest to heal to this extent.

Khan's nagging questions were interrupted by a knock on the door. He tensed, pushing his aching body into a sitting position. Whoever it was on the other side of the door seemed to know that he was awake and aware, and was waiting for his _permission_ to enter.

_Strange._

Still, Khan was nothing if not adaptive. He would be ready for his deceptively polite visitors, whoever they were.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand and nearly keeled over from an unexpected and intense wave of dizziness. He groaned and righted himself, tearing the metal brace clumsily off of the side of the bed in case he needed a crude, blunt weapon.

"Enter," he called, mentally preparing himself to attack and wishing that his head would stop spinning.

The door swung open with a beep and Khan frowned as a single middle-aged man in doctor's scrubs stepped inside. His confusion only mounted as the man closed the door after himself, giving no indication that anyone else would be following him.

Ever since his time with Marcus, Khan had become accustomed to being surrounded by large squads of guards. Either this man was attempting to trick him by appearing nonthreatening, or he'd just been handed a death sentence by his superiors for some unforgivable error or insubordination.

"Hello, Mr. Singh," the doctor said, smiling pleasantly at him and moving closer, apparently unconcerned that an agitated super soldier was brandishing a metal beam in his face. "Should you really be standing so soon? Your injuries really do need more time to heal."

Khan stared coldly back, his blood pressure rising as he looked upon his intended victim, who didn't appear to have a care in the world. It bothered him, though his exhausted brain struggled to determine why. If this man was in any true danger from him, he wouldn't appear so nonchalant. At the same time, the larger question remained of why he was removed from his cell in the first place.

_I will use him to glean information, _Khan decided quickly, _and turn this twisted game to my advantage, if that's even possible. As soon as I have what I need from him, I'll rip him limb from limb._

"Where am I?" Khan demanded, his legs starting to tremble under the strain of standing for so long. He decided to use his weakness to bolster his act as he stumbled back to the bed to sit, the metal brace clattering to the floor from his weak grip. His movements were only slightly exaggerated, but the doctor didn't need to know that.

The man nodded approvingly as Khan discarded his weapon and heeded his advice to rest, taking it as permission to step closer and begin his examination.

"There we are," the man said gently, setting his medical kit down on the bed beside Khan. "You're currently in a secure Starfleet base in New Mexico. You've been here since the shutdown and raid of Section 31's San Francisco facility nearly four days ago. I'm Dr. Richards, and I'll be looking after you until you're healthy enough to be transferred. I'm going to examine your injuries today."

Khan frowned suspiciously, parsing the doctor's words for a second and third level of meaning, using clues such as his inflection and the likelihood of the information to determine the truth. He had no way of knowing if the man's claim about being in New Mexico was true, or if they were even anywhere on Earth.

Though the eyes were the most commonly cited telltale for spotting a lie, Khan had found over the years that the voice was the most reliable indicator of dishonesty. And the doctor didn't _appear_ to sound dishonest. Maybe he was telling the truth.

(But then again, he _had_ made the choice to trust Spock's word based on his voice and his crew had burned for his mistake.)

Perhaps it was best to be skeptical. There was also no way to determine how much time had passed, though four days _sounded_ about right.

"Where will I be transferred?" Khan asked wearily, feeling a headache beginning to form at his temples. He wanted nothing more than to lie back on the functional yet comfortable bed and sleep for another three hundred years, but it felt as if something was preventing him from achieving any true rest.

_It's my fate, _he thought distantly, flinching slightly as Dr. Richards carefully tilted his chin up to shine a small light in his right eye. _A fitting punishment for my many crimes._

He wondered whether Starfleet would inflict an actual punishment on him, or if he would simply be returned to his cryotube. He couldn't count the torture he'd just endured as a form of justice, even one he didn't deserve, because it _wasn't_ justice – it was simply an experiment, an extreme way of collecting information.

He also wondered if his other eye would ever grow back, butin truth it probably didn't matter that much. It wasn't as if a second eye would vastly improve his terrible luck.

"A containment facility, I expect," the doctor murmured, taking a pair of delicate tongs out of his kit. "In preparation for your role in the upcoming trials."

He brought the tongs up to Khan's face and the augment jerked back, barely resisting his urge to lash out. All he saw was the twisted, sharp instruments that had poked and prodded and peeled him back in the cell, and it felt as if his heart wanted to leap out of his chest.

"It's all right, son," the doctor reassured him, pausing to remove the instrument from Khan's line of vision. "I just want to check on the progress of that other eye – it won't hurt at all. I'm not certain yet, but I have a suspicion that it might be growing back. Can I do that now, or would you rather I wait until next time?"

"Now," Khan said reluctantly, hoping that further evidence of his weakness didn't come through in his voice. He used to be a leader and a warrior, but now here he was cowering from an unassuming man wielding a small piece of curved metal.

"You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of," the doctor said firmly, and Khan looked up into his eyes fully for the first time, startled at the words. They were ocean blue, a color not uncommon in humans, yet the hue was almost too deep and too rich to be natural. A nagging feeling of unease started to unravel in the back of Khan's mind as he was drawn forward into the doctor's pitying, unnaturally _aware_ gaze…

"You were dead when they found you. Did you know that?" The man asked, his tone no longer gentle. There was steel in his words and eyes, and a demand to be answered immediately.

"Dead? I – I…" Khan sputtered as he was caught off guard, his head spinning in equal parts dread and confusion. "How is that_ possible? _What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," the man continued calmly, holding Khan's chin steady with one hand as he carefully parted his closed eyelid with the tongs, "that those animals strung you up and tortured you until you were dead. You don't have to be ashamed of your reactions – in fact, I'm amazed that you're alive again and even remotely sane."

Khan didn't breathe until the doctor was finished shining the light into his blind left eye, which for all he knew was just an empty socket.

There were a thousand frantic questions racing through his head, and he longed for an answer that would pull all the frayed threads together behind his calm exterior. But one thing was certain now: this man was not what he seemed. The doctor had an agenda for claiming that he'd died back in the cell, and Khan intended to find out what it was.

After all, dying was nearly impossible for an augment. None of the tortures they had put him through were enough to overcome his body's incredible ability to repair.

"It's healing," the doctor reported as he let the eyelid fall back into place, obviously impressed. "The optic nerve has almost grown back, and I'm sure the rest of your eye will follow soon. You'll have to excuse me if I'm gushing – I've never seen anything like this in a warm-blooded species before."

Khan struggled to keep his face blank, displeased with the doctor's tone and _especially _with his false claim that he had died. The man's voice contained that same insatiable curiosity that Khan had been a victim of so many times in the past as he was prepared for dissection. He wanted nothing more than to rip the man's throat out, but that would be a waste of a potential source of information.

"You said something about a trial? No, about _trials,"_ Khan corrected himself, frowning as he remembered the doctor's words from a few minutes ago.

_Why would I be involved in more than one trial? Unless he's implying - _

"You're probably supposed to hear this from a lawyer," Dr. Richards answered, starting to carefully unwrap the bandages covering Khan's back. "But you've been requested as a witness in some high-profile cases. Most of them relate to the facility you were found at, and certain researchers and staff members you may have interacted with. And there was another case I heard them mention in passing…it turns out that Vulcan commander's been court-martialed. Young guy, too. But I can't seem to remember his name…"

Khan stilled, his lips forming the name of the man he hated most without him even realizing it. Spock, one of the darlings of the Fleet…_court martialed? _Was it even possible?

"Right, Commander Spock. That was his name," the doctor continued as he injected a painkiller into the tissue near the worst of Khan's acid burns. But Khan was so caught up in his memories that he didn't even notice the pain from his worst wounds anymore. "Apparently they want him for something he did a few years back. I guess you must have witnessed it, which is why the need your testimony."

_Khan scoured the Vulcan's words for any hint of deception as they faced off through the screen, face to face, ship to ship. Something wasn't quite right, but the sight of the seventy–two torpedoes, the temporary resting places of his family drowned out any concerns he may have had about the Vulcan's honesty._

"_I see the seventy-two torpedoes are still in their tubes," he warned, his voice promising swift vengeance in the event of a trick. "If they are not mine, commander, I __**will **__know it."_

"_Vulcans do not lie," Spock responded calmly, his voice far more controlled than his features. "The torpedoes are yours."_

_It was all the confirmation he needed._

_His face broke into his first genuine smile in centuries and a feeling that almost resembled hope swelled in his chest as he saw the tubes dematerialize, then reappear in his hangar bay. His crew was safe, and he was finally reunited with them after a year of slavery and fear._

_He wound mark their entry into this new era with a sacrifice, and a warning to the rest of the universe that he would never again tolerate betrayal. _

"Mr. Singh?"

_Somewhere between locking phasers on the Enterprise and plummeting to Earth in the smoking ruins of his own ship, Khan realized that he should have taken Spock's phrasing more literally._

"Khan? Khan, are you still with me?"

As the memory ended, Khan heard Dr. Richards speaking to him, as he probably had been for some time. He nodded quickly, his frustration rising as he realized once again that his mind wasn't the same as it had been before, and that any attempt at manipulation or escape would be hindered by the damage to his psyche.

Khan considered the doctor, his discomfort rising at the man's unnatural display of serenity in the face of his very probably death. There was something about the man that he didn't like, something that triggered the deeper, more savage part of his genetic programming. Khan's tired, overworked brain was screaming at him to run or to kill, and he was certain that he'd end up making one of those decisions unless this conversation ended soon.

_But first – _

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked to test his suspicions, a hint of an accusation in his voice. "Refusing to give a prisoner information is standard operating procedure in places like this."

The doctor shrugged, unconcerned. "You might be a prisoner, but that's no reason why you should be kept in the dark about everything. And in all honesty…" The older man's voice dropped as he met Khan's suspicious gaze without flinching, "after everything that Starfleet's done to you, you _should_ have the knowledge you need to protect yourself, at least in some small way."

Khan raised an eyebrow, not at all convinced of the other man's sympathy, but willing to play along to steer the conversation in the direction he wanted it to go. He stood abruptly, forcing the other man to take a step back. "But I'm _not _like everyone else, doctor," he countered quietly, his voice as low and ruthless as it had ever been. "Or have you forgotten already?"

The doctor chuckled appreciatively, his eyes strangely cold and still devoid of fear. "Oh, I haven't forgotten, son. But you don't seem to believe me, and I can't blame you for that. Perhaps it would be better if I _showed_ you how safe you are here. Do you think you can walk?"

Khan frowned before nodding uncertainly. He didn't know if he was ready to walk, but it was worth a try if it meant that Dr. Richards, if that was his real name, would reveal more potentially useful information. And if he was being deceived…well, it wasn't as if he had anything left to lose. The man was probably insane and certainly not what he seemed, but he was still only one human. The second he broke his word, Khan would break his neck in payment.

"Excellent! Then follow me."

The doctor held the door open and Khan haltingly stepped through, half-expecting an ambush the second he crossed the threshold. Nothing happened, however, and he looked up and down the long hallway in suspicion as Richards closed the door behind them.

The doctor nodded at him and began to lead Khan down the hall towards the doors that marked the end of the ward. Khan moved slowly, having to lean against the wall every few paces for support and still nearly sinking to the floor from his lingering weakness. He spotted the two guards stationed by the doors right away, and while they watched him approach with a wary diligence, neither moved to stop him.

Khan peered into rooms as they passed by, seeing mostly empty beds but also several people resting and convalescing. The images captured by his working eye were blurred and strange; it was almost as if the scenery was shifting around in his head and changing shape before he was able to make sense of it.

_Almost as if someone is changing what I'm seeing intentionally._

The doctor looked back at him at that precise instant, a small, knowing smile curling his mouth. Khan's heart skipped a beat as he finally realized exactly who he was dealing with, and what would happen to him unless he acted _now_. He lunged forward without hesitation, intending to break the Betazoid's neck before the telepath turned his own senses against him.

"Too late," Agent Rennan whispered, and Khan's entire world exploded with pain.

A few seconds later when his brain was able to process what had just happened, Khan discovered that he was lying on the floor in the fetal position, shaking as he clawed at his own skin. Pathetic, pained noises were escaping his throat as his half-healed injuries flared up like they'd just been inflicted fresh again.

"Fascinating," an icy voice rang out above him as measured footsteps circled his prone form, "My hypothesis was correct. That level of pain _would _have been enough to kill a human…or one of my people. But you're _already_ recovering, and I've always had ways of shielding myself."

Khan's only response was a breathless, pained gasp. With his body and mind still emerging from a profound state of shock, basic functions such as speech were far beyond him.

"But you're recovering far more slowly, I see. It will only get worse for you from here, I'm afraid. Do you remember that parting gift our beloved Rebecca shoved in your eye? Well, we decided not the remove the circuitry in your brain. So you can count on the sleep deprivation you're experiencing now to intensify, with a little help from me."

"But you were right about one thing," Rennan continued, his voice laced with a new and previously unrevealed hatred. "This _is _your punishment – and your fate. Look up, you animal. There's something that you should see."

Though Khan knew it was nothing good, a morbid sense of curiosity compelled him to open his eye and crane his neck upwards anyway.

And immediately upon seeing the twisted chrysalis of metal, wire, and sanitary but razor-sharp instruments that he had (died?) in, Khan knew that his punishment had only _begun. _They hadn't removed him from the cell out of mercy. They'd shown him kindness to make whatever was in store for him next hurt even worse.

"You didn't believe me, when I told you that you died here," Rennan observed from a vast distance above him. "I was a bit hurt by your distrust of me, I admit. But then I remembered that I borrowed that memory from you a few days ago. Would you like it back?"

He didn't give Khan the opportunity to answer. Instead, the knowledge unfolded in his mind as if a light breeze was parting the curtains of his memory. Then the sensations and emotions of a few days ago blazed across his synapses, and in a split second everything made perfect and terrible sense.

_HatredFuryDesperateColdFadingIWinSafetySilenceKirk_

…_**Kirk!**_

"Yes! As I told her in different words, it's _incredible,"_ Rennan whispered, crouching and leaning in close to Khan's ear. "And the reason why I requested to study you myself. I've never seen a bond quite like this before in any species I've encountered. I wonder how far I can push you before the Captain shatters, as well," he mused, chuckling as he stood and called to the guards to take the prisoner to his cell.

"I suppose that we'll find out."

* * *

Thanks so much for the kind reviews and favs! 3

In case anyone thinks I'm prejudiced against Betazoids, I am not. I have tons of Betazoid friends ;)

But this Rennan is an uncommonly nasty Betazoid, and I can say with confidence that he won't get any kinder to our dear augment. Next chapter: Kirk is forced to compromise as he juggles a tense political situation on New Vulcan. He also has to deal with Khan's problems at the same time. How will the poor boy manage!? Keep reading to find out...


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